


Sternennacht Singspiel

by gnostic_heretic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: A LOT to unpack, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, Complicated Relationships, Drama & Romance, Existential Angst, F/F, F/M, Family Feels, Friends to Lovers, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Theatre, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Characters, Unrequited Love, Young Adult Drama, also main cast is mostly trans so if that's not your cup of tea... bye, no one is straight and that's just it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24261472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnostic_heretic/pseuds/gnostic_heretic
Summary: New loves and yearning blossom, old feelings and grudges resurface in a group of friends and theatre students under the sky of bustling, fast-paced Berlin.
Relationships: Austria & Hungary & Prussia (Hetalia), Belarus & Lithuania (Hetalia), Germany/South Italy (Hetalia), Hungary & Poland (Hetalia), Hungary/Ukraine (Hetalia), Lithuania/Poland (Hetalia), Prussia/South Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Before this starts: CONTENT WARNING for mentions of transphobia, and one slur towards the end of the chapter. Read safely!)

One brush stroke after another, precise like an oil painting: Feliks’ hand moved swiftly, working up the layers of colors, blending and adding details as he went on.    
He didn’t know what he was going for, other than a vague idea, an aesthetic. Van Gogh’s starry sky, with a David Bowie twist. It sounded crazy, for sure.   
But how else could he approach this, when the play itself— not simply a play, but a  _ musical _ — was based on such absurd premises?   
A modernized version of one of Mozart’s most famous works; a glam-rock singspiel, as their professor presented it.    
Thankfully, he couldn’t be any more familiar with the face of the model: Erzsébet, who was more of an older sister than a friend, and more of a platonic soulmate than a sister. 

“So? How is it?”

Feliks looked at Erzsébet in anticipation. The make up on her face, a blend of yellow, blue and silver glitter swirling around golden eyes, made her look strange in a good way, like an ethereal alien queen. Layers of holographic highlighter made her prominent cheekbones stand out even more. Definitely too much for a simple every-day look; good, however, for the production of The Magic Flute they were testing this for. 

She blinked a few times, getting used to the feeling of contacts, then smiled at him. 

“It’s perfect! I love the pop of yellow!”

“You’re going to be the most beautiful Queen of the Night the world has seen, Liz.”

She smiled, shyly ducking her head. “It’s all thanks to you and Feli. I swear, you guys really have a talent.” 

“A talent is nothing without a good model, dear. Every painter needs a canvas,” Feliks protested at the compliment, but a bite of pride made him smile anyway. He had to admit he had done a good job, and now all that was left to see was Felice’s costume– which, judging from the preparatory sketch at least, was going to look truly amazing. He could only hope that his own would be just as good, but he trusted Felice's sense of fashion and shapes.

During the auditions, he had managed to land the role of Papageno: not the protagonist, but not bad. It was a major part, it was attention-grabbing, and he knew it.  
Plus, it was the first really ambitious school production they had done, and he could not be more excited. The year before, their version of Wesker’s “The Kitchen” had been a success– but the stage setup and costumes hadn’t taken nearly as much effort, beyond a trip to the closest workwear store. This was really going to be their chance to shine.

As he put his brushes and palettes away, Erzsébet started to complain once more about her ex girlfriend, Lena, who had abruptly left her for another woman after two years of long distance relationship: a story he had heard several times in the past week, and he knew he would hear again soon. 

The culprit for once again re-igniting the dim fire of her heartbreak was said ex’s instagram account, where the newest picture was featuring her and her new girlfriend making out in front of a temple in Thailand. The problem being that the picture in question was taken one year before, when Erzsébet and Lena were technically still dating. 

“I told you not to look at her instagram, Liz… it’s a waste of time, and it serves the only purpose of making you feel like shit.”

She huffed. “I know, but… shit, I can’t believe for all these years, she told me that Anne was her  _ straight best friend _ .”

“And you fell for it.”

“Like an idiot.”

“Liz, again. She has always had an undercut. And last year, she dyed it  _ green _ .”

“What can I say,” Erzsébet frowned at him, “straight girls these days are unpredictable. Boyfriend jeans, boyfriend flannel, boyfriend haircut. Plus, she did have a  _ boyfriend-boyfriend  _ when they first met.” 

“Well, now she has a girlfriend-girlfriend, and you are totally single.”

“Ha ha. Very funny,” she sneered, and stuck her tongue out at Feliks. “Hey, Fel. Didn’t you have class at three?”

A sneaking suspicion made Feliks’ stomach twist. “Yeah, why?”

“Because it is three. Right now.”

* * *

  
  
  


He almost tripped three times on his way to class, running to the opposite side of the building and up three flights of stairs. If he could manage to only be three-to-five minutes late, then it would not be such a big deal, or at least he hoped so.

As he ran, though, something caught his attention in his peripheral vision.

Outside a lecture room, there was a lanky young man standing. The guy’s look was pretty unremarkable. His brown hair was partially tied into a bun, and his clothes looked like they could have been his father’s before his own. In another moment Feliks would not have given him a second glance: he could be just another hipster, like the dozens that populated the arts faculty. 

What made him instinctively stop for a moment was the fact that this guy was very obviously not in a good emotional state. His grimace and shaking hands made the state of distress he was in painfully obvious.

Feliks knew he was late — he knew he should not have stopped — but the voice of his catholic upbringing roared in the back of his head, reminding him of when, at the age of five, he had first heard the story of the good samaritan.

Not that it mattered now, since he had not been to church in almost ten years; but the core message of “ignoring people in distress makes you an asshole” was still one he fundamentally believed in, and even without the help of Jesus. The sight of all these people walking by in front of him made Feliks feel sick.

_ Does none of you have a bone of kindness in their body? Geez.  _

Carefully, he approached the young man, who stared intently at the floor, seemingly unaware of anything that was happening around him. 

“Hello,” he said in the least threatening voice he could muster, “is everything alright?”

The guy looked at him like a deer in the headlights.

“No, I mean, yes. I mean...”

Now that he could see his face better, he noticed that his lips trembled just as much as his hands did. It didn’t look like a medical emergency. Likely he was just having a panic attack— an occurrence that Feliks was far too familiar with. 

“Hey, look at me. Do you need to see a doctor?”

He shook his head.

“Okay,” Feliks said, “then do you want to take some deep breaths, then sit down with me and talk?”

He hesitated for a moment, then he nodded.

Feliks smiled at him, and grabbed the guy’s bag from the ground. 

“I suppose this is yours? Follow me, we are going to grab something to drink.”

The cafeteria smelled like sugar and roasted coffee beans, with the faint lingering note of “overcrowded, closed space”. Thankfully, on that afternoon it was less busy than it would have usually been, and Feliks managed to grab a table with two chairs without having to wait. 

He took a menu from the counter and brought it back to their table.

“Choose whatever you like, it’s on me.”

The guy shook his head. “No, no, I’ll pay for mine. Maybe today I’ll go for… I don’t know, just some tea.”

“That’s out of the question!” Feliks looked at his startled eyes once again.  _ Shit _ , had he been too harsh? “I mean, you paying for it is out of the question. Sorry. I’ll be back in a moment with your tea… uh.” 

Feliks realized that he had forgotten to ask the most important question of all. 

“Mind if I ask you your name?”

The guy smiled for the first time— awkwardly, but it was still a smile. “Call me Tolys.”

“And you can call me Feliks, Tolys. I’ll be back in a moment.”

There was only one person queueing in front of him, but apparently she had ordered enough drinks to quench the thirst of a whole army— at least judging from the amount of time it was taking her. 

Feliks shot a furtive glance back at the table where Tolys was waiting for him. The more he looked at him, the more his initially plain and ordinary appearance took the shape of something new in his eyes. His facial features were really strong, with bushy eyebrows and a nose that stood out. His hair was in dire need of brushing, and he just seemed like a really clumsy person overall. There was, however, a mysterious sharpness and maybe even grace to him, in the way he posed and moved. Freckles covered his knuckly hands and most of his face like dripping paint on a canvas. 

He stared into the distance, almost as if he was hoping for someone to come and rescue him from this situation he had somehow found himself into.

Feliks’ train of thoughts was interrupted by the barista announcing his turn. 

When he came back to the table, Tolys looked nervous and jittery— not as much as when he had found him, though. 

“There’s your tea,” he told him, “and here’s my iced coffee. I hope this makes you feel a little better, at least.”

Tolys took a small sip and immediately put the cup down. 

“Ow, it’s hot! Ah, well, yes. Thank you very much for... this. I’m sorry for the bother.”

“It’s no bother at all.” Feliks said, like a liar. He had skipped class to comfort a total stranger. Still, he thought it was worth the consequences. “I’ve had panic attacks in public before. It sucks so bad… and like, I wish I had someone back then to notice it and just… talk to me. You know.”

“I see.” Tolys nodded. The fact that Feliks knew what he felt like seemed to make him less nervous. “It’s just that sometimes it’s too much for me. You know. School.  _ This.  _ I think I might have failed my class.”

“What class is it?” 

“American history. It’s not even that hard, but I panicked this afternoon. Well, actually, I panicked yesterday night, and couldn’t get any sleep at all, and today I had to deal with the consequences.”

“I’m sure you did better than you expected, Tolys. Sometimes, anxiety is just a bitch like that.”

Tolys chuckled. “Maybe you’re right. I mean, I did study. I just feel like I bullshitted my way through this essay… like I really didn’t have anything interesting or new to say about McCarthyism that hasn’t already been stated a hundred times, and a hundred times better already…”

“Hm, I feel that way whenever I have to write something smart about Brecht.”

Finishing his coffee with one last gulp, he noticed that Tolys had not touched his tea since the first sip; he had fidgeted with the cup a lot, though. A small stain of blue ink had smeared on the handle from the tip of his fingers. 

“So you’re into theatre, did I guess right?”

Feliks leaned over with a cocky grin on his face. “So what is it that gave it away? Is it Brecht, or the fact that I’m very obviously gay?”

After all, if the floral shirt and his carefully styled bob cut didn’t give it away, it would probably be the holographic nail polish.

“A bit of both.” Tolys suddenly seemed very flustered, to say the least. “Not to play into stereotypes. I’m bisexual, but I ended up in history anyway. Cursed with the pain of being surrounded by conservatives at all times.”

_ Well _ . That was not fully unexpected, but still surprising. Maybe Erzsébet was right, and Feliks knew you can’t always tell— however, his radar had never failed him so far. Not even once. And if his gut was right… 

“You should hang out with us theatre kids sometimes, then! I’m sure it would be some refreshing company, considering there’s probably not a single straight person in our group. Unless someone is going to come out of the straight closet, but that’s unlikely.”

Tolys finally decided to drink his tea. He finished all of it in two sips. 

“I could, I need to check if I have time, though.” He took a notebook out of his bag. It was small, with a musical score printed on the cover: the kind you might find for cheap at Lidl. Tolys flipped the pages frantically, looking for something in there.

“You know, I’ve been here for three years, but… I don’t really know many people. Maybe it would be fun.”

“I promise we won’t bite.” Feliks took a pen from his own purse, and wrote down a number and an address on the receipt. “My phone number, and this is where we always hang out. Brunnenstrasse, near Rosenthaler. You can’t get it wrong.” 

“I got it.  _ Resistance _ ?” 

“It’s next to an italian restaurant, _Regina Margherita_.”

Tolys took the piece of paper and put it between the pages of his notebook. “Thank you, Feliks. I will text you, then? For the time and all.”

“You better.” Feliks really wished he could have spent more time chatting, but he had another rehearsal meeting that afternoon that he really could not miss. “I will hear from you soon, then!”

“Yes. Thank you and sorry, again for… uh, making you miss class.” 

Feliks shrugged. “It was no big deal. Don’t worry about it. See you around! And if you need anything, you can text me!”

Truth to be told, the moment he looked at his phone he found at least ten unread messages from Felice, asking where he had gone and whether everything was alright.

He waved at Tolys as he walked closer to the exit, when he suddenly called out to him from across the room.

“Feliks! I forgot to pay you for the tea!”

“You’ll pay me back another time!”

Tolys smiled and signed “ok” with both of his hands.

He had a good feeling about this. And Feli would never believe his excuse for skipping class that afternoon. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“And you mean to tell me,” Erzsébet glared at him, and spoke in her most skeptical tone, “that not only you ran into this really cute guy by chance, but you managed to speak to him, and give him your number?”

The smears of poorly removed eye makeup only added drama to her expression.

“Unbelievable, but true.”

“I believe you, if that counts!” Felice’s voice came loud and clear from the other side of the room. He was hunched over a sewing machine, the sleeves of his obscenely expensive shirt rolled up almost to his armpits. “I met my boyfriend at Romano’s work, so I know you can really find love in the most unexpected places.”

“You still have to make us meet this mystery man sometimes, Feli! You’ve been gushing about him for weeks, and yet he’s nowhere to be seen.”

“You’re mean, Liz.” Felice huffed. “He’s a very busy man, you know, he has a career and stuff.”

“Meanwhile we are here, living our life in pleasant idleness.” Feliks iawned. It had been a long day, after all.

“Speak for yourself, Fel, some of us are working. This dress isn’t exactly going to sew itself.”

“Speaking of mystery men,” Erzsébet interrupted, “Feliks, did you see if your mystery man has an instagram account we could peep at?”

Feliks felt ashamed to admit it but he had, in fact, looked up Tolys’ name on instagram, and tried every possible spelling of it. However, as unheard as his name was (and Feliks suspected that he might be from somewhere up north, near the baltic sea; and if so, it would be fun to have yet another eastern immigrant in their little group of friends) he could find no one to match his face or description whatsoever. Come to think of it, he hadn’t even seen him holding a phone. 

_ What if I gave him my number, and he doesn’t even have a phone? _

_ No _ , he thought,  _ he certainly would have said something, right? _

“He probably doesn’t have one. Sorry, Liz, no cyber-stalking for you today…”

“Not even a little, as a treat?”

“... no, not even a little. And no, please don’t look up Lena’s pictures again.”

Erzsébet scoffed at him, snappishly taking another make-up remover wipe from the box in front of her. “I will inform you, sir, that I downloaded Tinder and I am fully ready to move on.”

“My god,  _ Tinder _ ,” Feliks retched. “Desperate times truly do call for desperate measures, I see.”

“Don’t listen to him, Liz, I know you can find the love of your life if you set your heart to it!”

“Thank you, Feli! Thank god I have you!”

In a spontaneous ardor of true platonic, sisterly love, she walked across the room to hold him, and he almost jumped in his chair, yelling blasphemies in italian.

“ _ No, no! _ Liz let go, or the seam is going to be ruined!”

While they were screaming on the opposite side of the room, Feliks’ phone buzzed in his pocket. His heart skipped a beat. 

* * *

  
  


Over the next few days he learned many things about Tolys during the hours they spent texting.

As he expected, not only did he not have an Instagram account, but no social media presence whatsoever other than a Wordpress blog where he wrote lengthy posts about Norse sagas and legends. 

The blog had last been updated two years before, and Feliks did not know anything about vikings, but in a couple nights he had absorbed more information than he needed about Egil’s saga and the story of Sigurd and Brynhild. 

As he also expected, Tolys was an exchange student. Growing up in a block of flats populated mainly by other eastern European families, Tolys’ accent sounded oddly familiar and it told him that, while he was obviously fluent in German, he was not a native speaker: and sure enough, he came all the way from Lithuania with a study-abroad program. 

He was also close to graduation despite being his same age, which made Feliks feel more than a little bit inadequate. 

He learned that they had been taking classes in the same building for at least two years, and yet he had never noticed him before… and it made him think about just how many people he crossed and passed by every day, at school and out, every single day. How each one of them had a story to tell, if only anyone had stopped and listened. 

_ What a cliché. _ He wrinkled his nose at his own thoughts.

Feliks checked his phone: still no answer to his last text. But it was getting late, and while he had agreed to meet up with Erzsébet and a couple friends at nine that evening, he was still stuck scrolling down his phone on his bed, wearing a bathrobe and nothing else.

He groaned and stood up to check what he had in his wardrobe.

His heart said it was the right night to dress up. The clock begged to differ. Tonight was a jeans and t-shirt kind of night, but maybe he had still enough time left for a little eyeliner.

* * *

  
  


On the way to the bar, Feliks’ phone buzzed in his pocket.

_This must be Liz_ , he thought, since he had left her on read before leaving his home. Unexpectedly, it was a cryptic text from Tolys.

_ Did you say that one of your friends is albino? _

Feliks blinked and typed his reply.

_ yeah why _

It seemed like an adequate answer to the question. What a weird guy he was, ghosting for hours without telling him whether he would show up or not, and then sending a random text like that.

The scent of pizza still lingered as he passed by the Italian restaurant on the street. It was the only smell strong enough to outweigh the Döner place he just left behind. 

Feliks’ stomach grumbled. He had forgotten to have dinner that night— or at least, that was what he had decided to tell himself (somehow, it seemed kinder than “ _I have skipped dinner on purpose_ ”, but maybe it was not). 

* * *

The  _ Resistance  _ was a very inconspicuous place, at least compared to other bars in the same area. Bought in the 50s by the same couple that opened the pizzeria ten years prior, it was quickly sold off when they realized it was not nearly as lucrative. It had changed ownership at least twenty times over the course of the years, but the counter and the interiors had remained almost the same since then. It was obviously  _ demodé _ , but Feliks liked the atmosphere of it. 

The name was given to it by a French man in the seventies, when he wanted to turn it into a new salon of writers philosophers in the middle of Berlin. His plan had failed after a few years— but the name stuck, and so did the piano he managed to fit into one corner of the bar. 

This small and hidden place now belonged to the parents of one of Erzsébet’s best friends.

Or well, technically it was a drop in the ocean of properties that belonged to Irina and Gustav Beilschmidt, but they had never even set a foot inside the door after the contract was signed.

The real soul of the  _ Resistance  _ was Gilbert Beilschmidt, their son, who had dropped out of high school several years prior and, in search for alternative job prospects, made himself learn how to be a barista.

When he struggled to find work even within that field, much to his own disappointment, his parents decided to step in with their fortune and give him his own place. 

In spite of that, and in spite of the fact that sometimes he found his presence insufferable, Feliks had to admit that Gilbert was really good at his job. And him being Erzsébet’s friend meant that often they would get discounted drinks, as he hoped it would be the case that night.

* * *

Feliks stepped into the bar and was greeted immediately by the shocking sight of Erzsébet (already half-drunk) laughing loudly with her arm around Tolys’ shoulder, the few people around them looking both mortified and amused by the show.

Felice was sitting with them at the old mahogany table; next to him sat his older brother, Romano, who worked part-time at the italian restaurant next door.    
Despite being two years apart, and very different once you got to know them, a lot of people seemed to mistake the two of them for twins. Feliks suspected it might be because of their hair, and sometimes he wondered if perhaps, the two of them were getting the same haircut on purpose.

On the opposite side of the table sat Roderich, Erzsébet’s ex-boyfriend and long time friend. 

The two of them had met through Gilbert, and had dated briefly before she came out as a trans woman, and shortly after, as a lesbian. 

Feliks did not know what Erzsébet had seen in him back then, but Roderich was a good pianist and a good conversation partner, if you could get him drunk enough. 

And, since he was smiling, Feliks could tell that he was already more than drunk enough.

From his place at the table, Tolys spotted him, and he waved.

Erzsébet abruptly let go of him to stand up and hold Feliks into a hug so tight, he feared his ribs would finally be nuked for good. 

“Fel! ‘T was about time! Your friend here was worried that you had gotten lost or something!”

“I just missed the s-bahn, is all,” he coughed, trying to detangle himself from her embrace. “You smell like martini.”

“Damn right I do! And it’s about time you come and have fun with us!”

She guided him to the table. Tolys looked at him with the same expression of a cornered mouse. 

“I’m sorry, Feliks. I got here at nine, and I thought you might not show up.”

Suddenly, the strange text he received earlier clicked into place.

And sure enough, Gilbert greeted him with a sneer and joined them at the table with more drinks. White hair, thick glasses and pale as a blanket. 

“So I remembered… ahem, what you told me about your friends. And I asked them if they knew you.”

Erzsébet took one of the shots that had been placed on the table merely a few seconds before. “And so I told him, Feliks? That Feliks? You’re asking me if I know him when he’s basically my brother. My partner in crime. My gay soulmate. And I told him to just sit with us already!” 

Tolys nodded and smiled politely. “Your friends are very nice.”

“I really hope so. So I suppose I don’t need to introduce you anymore?”

“As if there’s any need for that,” said Erzsébet, “hah, ‘cause my golden boy here has been talking to us about  _ you  _ non. Fucking. Stop. For the past week.”

Feliks’ face flushed, _violently_. 

To his rescue, Felice interrupted her from the other side of the table. 

“Liz, Liz! Why don’t you tell us again about your Tinder date from yesterday?” 

The following twenty minutes  were spent listening to Erzsébet’s lonely lesbian lament, as she gradually melted into a puddle of tears. 

After she had gotten too tired to cry (and too drunk to stay awake, dozing off on the table), however, the conversation got more quiet. 

Feliks found out that Tolys was a lover of classical music; he listened to Roderich’s stories about the years he spent at the conservatory in Turin with wide-eyed awe.

“If Gilbert gives me his permission, I can play something on the piano.”

Tolys’ smile lit up. “Oh, that would be really exciting! I can’t remember the last time I’ve been to a concert. It was probably when I first came to live here.”

“It’s no big concert, but I’ll do my best to entertain.” Roderich nodded and turned his head towards the counter. “Hey, Gilbert. Can I use the piano?”

Gilbert heard him and raised a thumbs-up of approval. The only people who were left in the bar other than their small group of friends were leaving, and he had to pay attention to them for a moment.

Roderich left the table and sat at the piano. He tested a few keys before he started with an allegro. 

Feliks didn’t really know much about classical music, but the melody was pleasant enough. It had a nice rhythm to it. 

“It’s a nice song,” he said casually. The peach vodka he had earlier was starting to make him dizzy. 

“Mozart’s piano sonata, number eight,” hummed Tolys. “Your friend Roderich is a very talented pianist.”

“Or maybe we’re just both drunk?”

Tolys laughed. “I’m fine, actually.” Come to think of it, Feliks had not seen him drink anything since the start of the night.

“Can’t say the same thing about anyone else, huh?”

Erzsébet was, at that point, snoring, her head resting on Gilbert’s shoulder. He seemed unbothered by it, engrossed in a conversation about a series of true crime documentaries that Feliks had never watched, but Romano and Felice seemed to be huge fans of.

“Do you want to go outside and get some fresh air, once Roderich is done playing? You look unwell.”

“I’m just tired, that is all.” Feliks shrugged. “But that sounds nice, sure.”

He let the rest of the song wash over him, with the sound of Gilbert’s chattering lingering at the back of his mind. Unlike him, Tolys seemed really captivated by the music, tapping his fingers on the table to track its movements. 

There was something elegant in the way his hands moved, in the way his thin wrists rose and fell. Feliks wondered if he knew how to play the piano; he thought he’d make sure to ask once the song was over. Maybe it was the alcohol that made everything seem more vibrant, but to him it seemed like a scene from a dream. The dim light of the bar, the faint taste of peach in his mouth. Tolys listening so attentively, occasionally biting at his own lip, the tap of his fingertips on the table, the same table where his own hand rested. The polished wood almost seemed warm to the touch. 

When Roderich lifted his hands from the piano, Tolys clapped enthusiastically. The loud, snapping sound brought Feliks back to reality.

_ What was that just now?  _ He shook his head. 

“Careful there,” Gilbert sneered at him, “ don't clap too much, or Roderich might start to have high hopes about being the next Chopin.” 

His banter was met by Roderich with a glare as sharp as a knife. 

“Thank you, Tolys. Now, I am sorry to be a bummer, but I think we need to do something about  _ that _ .”

He pointed to Erzsébet. A string of drool fell from her mouth.

“It’s fine, I’ll take her upstairs to my apartment.”

“Are you sure about it? I can drive her back home.” 

Gilbert’s expression changed. A sudden tension filled the air. 

Feliks rolled his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to get involved in other people's ancient, deeply-seayed grudges, and to see Erzsébet, of all people, getting treated like some sort of damsel in distress. 

“Guys,” he said, “I’m gonna go home. It’s getting late, and I have… uhh.. Stuff to do. Tomorrow morning.”

Tolys stood up. “Me too, actually. It’s been a fun time, though, I’m glad I got to meet you all.”

  
  
  


“Tolys! Wait!” Feliks ran after him on the sidewalk, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry, I had to say goodbye to everyone, they kept me in for an eternity. Is it ok if we walk together to the s-bahn?”

“Sure thing.” 

“I hope you had fun! I told you that my friends would totally love you.”

“They’re all very kind people, yes. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming…”

They walked in silence for a few minutes. The air was cool, as it always was in the middle of spring, especially at night.

The lights of the buildings around them filled the sky with a purple tint, and hid the stars behind a veil. Only the moon was visible, a pale and timid sickle, looking down at the earth. Watching from above as hundreds, thousands of people went about their life in the city; the top of the Fernsehturm watched too, painting a familiar and reassuring landscape. 

Feliks felt cold. Every muscle in his body was tense as the chord of a finely tuned violin. 

“So, uh, Tolys, this might seem like a strange question but-” he stuttered, trying to break the ice, “do you play the piano?”

Tolys’ eyes widened. 

“Ah, yes! But I was too embarrassed to bring it up in front of Roderich. How did you know?”

“Your fingers.” Feliks struggled to find a non-awkward way to say it. “The way you tapped your fingers on the table… with the music. It wasn’t just to keep the time. It was almost as if you wanted to play the song yourself, like your hands were moving on their own.”

He nodded. “I learned how to play when I was a kid. But I haven’t really had a chance to practice ever since I left home.”

“Do you have any other secret skills you’ve been hiding from me?” 

“Let’s see. I used to be a ballet dancer, too. When I was a child.”

Feliks’ jaw dropped. “ _ Ballet _ ? Now that’s something I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. It’s about the way you move. You don’t have the posture of a dancer, so to speak.”

“I never said I was a  _ good  _ dancer,” Tolys laughed, “there’s a reason why I stopped. Well actually, there’s several reasons, but that was one.” 

He seemed suddenly flustered, as if the talk had brought back some less than pleasant memories. 

“What about you, Feliks? Is there some secret skill you’ve kept hidden from me?”

“Hmm.”

Feliks thought about it for a moment. Did he? 

“I am a pretty good cook, I also make cakes sometimes. I make a really good Mazurek… or so my mom says. I guess it’s not as exciting, though.”

“Why not? I can barely reheat stuff in a microwave.” Tolys giggled. “That brings back memories, too. We used to buy mazurek at the bakery down the street, back at home.”

“I’ve only ever had my mom’s. Other than my own, I mean. She used to be the cook around the house when I was a kid… before my parents’ marriage failed miserably, that is.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tolys said quickly, a knee-jerk reaction of concern. 

“It’s fine. It’s not like I didn’t have a huge part in that, to be fair.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself. I’m sure that’s not true.”

Feliks knew that he meant to be reassuring, but it felt like a punch in the stomach. 

He had gotten so used to blaming himself over the years, that at that point it had become a badge of pride for him. 

“Tell that to my shitty Catholic dad,” he spat. “He left my mom the moment I came out to them, and she refused to slap me back into the closet, or disown me. It’s not like there weren’t problems before. But like, their precious little girl turning out to be a guy, and a faggot at that, certainly didn’t make things any better… I suppose.” 

Tolys stared at him with the very same eyes he had when they met; Feliks could almost see, feel the swirl of thoughts and anxiety going through his head in that moment. He knew, because he was feeling just about the same. 

_ Shit, did he not expect it? I thought I didn’t pass— shit, what if he won’t take it well. I needed to think this through…  _

Feliks expected an endless stream of invasive questions to come. Instead, Tolys quietly took his hand, and looked at him straight in the eyes.

He was so close that Feliks could feel his warm breath on the tip of his nose. As he looked down, a waterfall of curly hair framed his face— and the lights of the cars, the buildings, the neon signs around them danced in his mudded green eyes, like droplets in a puddle on a cloudy, rainy day. Feliks’ heart started beating fast, blood flooded his face and he hoped he could not see it, he hoped it was dark enough that even up close like that, he would not notice. 

He desperately wanted to look away, but he could not. He was raptured. 

  
  


“Thank you for telling me this.” 

_ What strange things to say _ , Feliks thought. His head was spinning, still, unsure whether this was just an illusion, an elaborate trick of his imagination.

“But,” Tolys continued, “it is still not your fault. You know, I haven’t talked to my parents in five years. The last time we spoke on the phone, on the day I had my very first shot, when I finally told them, all my mother had to say was: _ Agne, you will always be my beautiful daughter _ . And that I could come back any time, because if I changed my mind, they would forgive me— like that story in the Bible, you know. Like the father who forgave his prodigal son...” 

Tolys smiled, but there was no joy in his eyes. He looked on the verge of tears. 

“Please don’t tell anyone...  _ this _ . All that. But that’s just to say. I don’t ever look back. And I don’t blame myself, and neither should you. It is them who are blind and fearful, Feliks, not you who is monstrous.”

The cacophony of his thought was lost in the white noise of cars and chatter around them.

It was as if Feliks was looking into his eyes, but also observing the two of them from above, high up in the sky.

_ We are blocking the sidewalk, _ he thought.  _ People will stare, people will stare. _

_ People will stare, well, let them stare.  _

He stared, he was the one staring at Tolys with his mouth half opened, like an idiot.    
Feliks tried to gulp, but his throat felt dry.

Tolys’ hand was still holding his own, shaky, but unwavering.

God, he really wished he could lean in and kiss those dry lips of his.

“Tolys,” he said, hazy, almost as if to reassure him that he had not forgotten his name. “Thank you for telling me.”

Without thinking about it, he brought Tolys’ hand to his cheek. 

It was warm. 

He soon retracted his hand, as gently as possible, and smiled at him.   
“Should we keep walking, before the last train leaves? We are almost there.”

They spent the rest of the walk idly chatting, laughing at each other’s stories and struggles as only people who know the same shared pain and joy can. It was like time had stretched endlessly in the span of ten minutes. It felt, to Feliks, like everything that had happened until then that night had happened so long ago, years in the past; like it was a separate life, almost, like watching actors play on a stage.

It was like the two of them had become suddenly closer— and yet— a feeling stung at every step they took. Was it possible to grow close, and further apart at the same time?

Feliks blamed himself for that hidden awkwardness between them. Maybe it was his fault, maybe he had triggered this change too soon, too fast.

And with each minute passing, no matter how much he tried to forget about it, or blame it on the alcohol, or on the circumstances, he became more and more aware of the fact that he was probably— no, definitely — hopelessly falling in love with Tolys. 

Tolys left for his apartment with the promise that he would text him soon, to meet another time, even just for coffee at school. 

Feliks rode the train home alone, checking his phone every few minutes. 

When he arrived at his stop, he felt surprised at how empty the road home felt. 

The memory of Tolys’ hand on his, of the sound, physical presence of his body right next to him kept him company until he reached the building’s front door. 

In the dark, grey glass, his own reflection stared at him alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who read this far, thank you very much!  
> You might ask, Ivan, what the hell is it with you and the Magic Flute? Why is Feliks, of all characters, god-damned, clown-bird abomination Papageno? To tell the truth, the Magic Flute is one of my favorite musical theatre plays, and I've found Papageno so fascinating ever since I was a middle schooler. He was the mascot of my music book.  
> In Italy it's obligatory to take music classes in middle school, and we were all forced to play the flute. Predictably, I sucked at it... but Papageno's little smug little blue face is a sight I can never forget.  
> Onto the next chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

Like every other morning, Gilbert woke up five minutes before his alarm went off.

The world outside had already been awake for hours; the sounds of everyday life came in from his bedroom window. 

He turned around, and noticed he was not alone. The blurred presence of a woman in his bed startled it for a moment before he realized that the woman in question was just Erzsébet, sound asleep and snoring. Gilbert sat up to wear his robe and glasses, and made it a point to not look at her too much, turning the other way. 

Now that he could see, he could tell that it was sunny outside. A total hassle, considering he had to get some errands done before opening time, and he had no desire to smear his face with sunscreen. 

He stood up to get ready for the rest of the day, and stole a furtive glance at Erzsébet.

She slept all curled up, her hair was scattered in messy curls all around her face. Her foundation had stained the pillow right where her head was. 

No matter how many times he had been in the same situation, things never got any less awkward for Gilbert. He really needed to tell her to stop going overboard like that; it was the third time that she had slept at his place this month. 

It had gotten to the point where she had left a little make-up pouch on the sink. 

What would be next, asking for the apartment keys? Gilbert opened the sink a little too strongly, and water splashed all over his shirt. 

Great way to start his day.

Out of curiosity, he opened her pouch to look inside: there were just a few scant things, a razor, concealer, mascara, a weird sponge, a little glass container of foundation. He squinted to read the label.

  1. _Silk Cream Chamois._



What a stupid sounding name. Gilbert opened the bottle, and applied a drop of it on his hand to see if it could cover up his tattoos.

Erzsébet’s skin was olive, but not a tone anyone would consider dark; and in spite of that, her make-up looked dark brown on his skin by contrast. Also, it was not pigmented enough to cover shit. 

He washed it off, and tried to put everything back as sneakily as possible.

  
  
  


He came back to his own bedroom with two warm cups of coffee, and promptly sat them on his desk. 

“Erzsébet.” 

He shook her shoulder lightly, and she let out a low groan.

“Erzsébet. It’s almost eleven. I know it’s saturday, but I have stuff I need to do.”

“Mmh. My head…”

She rolled over to the other side of the bed. Gilbert sighed. 

“If you’re not waking up, I’ll drag you out of my bed by your feet. I swear it.”

No response came from her.

“Alright,” he said, and grasped her foot from under the blanket, “you asked for this, ma’am!”

He only had to pull for a moment before she sat up, huffing and groaning, almost throwing his blanket off the bed entirely.

“ _ No _ ! No, Gilbert, stop!”

“I warned you, Liz!”

“Unfaaaair.” She yawned, and stretched her arms up. Gilbert tried his best not to look, but her tank top— the same she was wearing the night before, green satin with thin lace straps— left very little to his imagination. 

“You’re a very mean little man, Gilbert. I was dreaming about… beautiful things.”

“Excuse me? This  _ mean  _ little man let you sleep in his bed and ruin his pillow, when you were too shit-faced drunk to move by yourself.”

She pretended not to hear him. “In my dream, you and I and Roderich were still kids, you know. And we were together at Roderich’s house near Dresden, the one where he lived with his parents, I mean. With the marble floors, and all of his mom’s potted plants.”

Gilbert could still remember it as if he had been there yesterday. The entrance hall was airy, with red and black marble tiles in the shape of a compass rose; the endless house parties he had attended there, the scent of expensive wine, perfume and shrimp (he had always hated shrimp, and the memory made him retch). The tropical plants from the greenhouse scattered everywhere to make that old, obscenely ostentatious turn-of-the-century villa seem more “homely”, according to Roderich’s mother, Charlotte. 

“We sneaked into the kitchen,” Erzsébet continued, “and we stole a huge pot of lemon custard. We ate so much of it, until we felt sick… and then we took a walk in the garden, and we took a swim together in one of the fountains. It was just very peaceful.”

“Those were good times,” Gilbert half-heartedly agreed, but his mood was somehow soured by this recollection. “Anyway, are you going to go home or not. I need to leave and run some errands for the bar.”

“Can I take a shower first? I feel like shit.”

He sighed. So it really had come to that point. He rustled in his pockets to find the keys. 

“Coffee is here on the desk, ibuprofen is in the cupboard if you need some. Just don’t rummage through my shit, Liz.”

“When have I ever done that?” 

She pouted, and mumbled a “thank you” under her breath. 

* * *

  
  


It was not even midday yet and Gilbert had already lost any hope that his day might get better. The man at the bank had changed his attitude completely as soon as he had seen his last name, and the names of his parents on the bills he needed to pay.

Servile little piece of shit. Sometimes Gilbert wondered why he bothered at all. 

On the complete opposite end of the spectrum of behavior, the cashier at Edeka (a young, angular woman, with blond hair and haunting blue eyes) glared at him in a way that made him feel like he was being dissected with a knife.

“It’s fifty-five  _ eu _ ro and fourteen cents.” 

She pronounced the “eu” in “euro” with a heavy russian inflection. Gilbert told himself that perhaps she was not really mad at him, just thinking harder to translate things in her head.

She quickly proved him wrong, giving him the same murderer stare as he walked to the door.

The encounter at Edeka reminded him that he needed to text the new waitress soon.

He had been considering hiring someone to help him out at the bar for months now, and always held himself back because with the little money he had left after bills and suppliers were paid, he already had trouble sustaining himself. 

However, he felt like maybe, part of the reason why he wasn’t doing so well was that behind the counter, he was always alone. Sometimes, having a second opinion could be a useful, refreshing thing. 

Asking for advice to his parents, or his little brother Ludwig, would have been as good as admitting defeat. So he decided to hire someone, and possibly, gradually incorporate them more and more into running the bar with him.

The only person who had responded to his newspaper ad was a 30-something year old Ukrainian lady, who already worked as a waitress during weekdays for a Turkish restaurant. Gilbert had immediately liked her energy: she spoke slowly, gently, in a way and with a cadence that reminded him of a kindergarten teacher singing a nursery rhyme. They had agreed that for the first six months, her contract would only include working on weekends; if she was the right person for the job, he’d give her a full-time position. 

He took out his phone from his pocket, and texted her. Her contact was saved as “Sophia”, but he was not sure if that was the right way to spell her name— he’d have to check the documents he had in the drawer later. 

_ Hi. Can we meet at noon? At the bar. I’ll show you the place, and what you need to do. _

* * *

  
  


He arrived just in time, and found her waving at the front door. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, lifting up his shopping back as an excuse. “I thought I’d make it a little earlier. Do you wanna come in and sit down?”

“Yeah, of course!”

Her smile was bright as a summer day. Gilbert thought her presence was very comforting: she was so bright, quiet, and soft in appearance and personality. The perfect balance for his angular, tattooed, overly sarcastic self.

He shoved his hand in his back pocket to find his keys, only to find it empty.

_ Shit _ . He had forgotten about Liz. 

“Hold on just a moment,” he said, an walked all the way to the back door to see if she had left his keys under the rug.

Nowhere to be found. 

He checked the door, however, and it was still open. 

“Liz! Fuck’s sake,” he screamed as loud as he could. 

He waited for a few seconds, until he heard steps coming his way.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Erzsébet appeared, fully clothed and ready to leave. “I was looking at something on my phone, and I just, lost the perception of time. Does it ever happen to you? Come on, Gil, don’t look at me like that!”

She pinched his cheek, and Gilbert’s face flushed suddenly. 

“My keys. Hand them over.”

“Okay, sure.”

He closed the back door, and headed back to the front, with Erzsébet at his feet— murmuring silly excuses that he could not hear well.

The new waitress was standing still, waiting for him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, we had a little issue with the key, my friend here had it. This is Erzsébet. Erzsébet, this is…”

“Sofiya,” he interrupted him, and shook Erzsébet’s hand. “I’m going to start working with Gilbert tonight. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Erzsébet stared at her, eyes wide open, with an expression that reminded Gilbert of a goldfish. 

* * *

  
  


On Sunday morning, he woke up with a throbbing migraine. He could feel the tension and pain even before he opened his eyes, and wanted nothing more than to curl up under the blanket and sleep some more.

He forced himself to wake up anyway, and reached for the glasses on his nightstand. He looked at the other side of the bed; he was alone today.

(Shouldn’t he be relieved, he thought, but somehow, he did not feel that way at all.)

The light that pervaded the entire room reflected on the white blankets, on the white walls, on the white contemporary furniture, from the desk to the wardrobe.

On days like this, he thought his house felt more like an elaborate hotel room than a home. That, or a vacation house— with him as the lone tourist, a lost wanderer in the wrong destination.

He checked his phone: five minutes to ten. Exact as a clock.

Under the time, a text from Erzsébet.

_ Hey Gil. Can you give me Sofiya’s number? Maybe even get me a date if you can??? Ur the best bro I could ask for. Love you _

His head felt like it was about to explode, and he it would, he wished his brain would just splatter all over the walls. 

  
  


* * *

The evening at the bar was going well, but Gilbert’s mind was somewhere else entirely.

Sofiya was taking care of customers: she was good, even too good at her job. All he had to do was prepare the drinks, resolved as he was to keep social interaction to a bare minimum. 

He could not stop thinking about Erzsébet’s text. He didn’t know why, but this time it just hit him in a sore spot.

Gilbert had known that Erzsébet was a lesbian for years, from the day she came to him crying, asking desperately for his advice on how to break up with Roderich, how to tell him that she was a girl— and that she had always been attracted to girls, in a gay way. 

Which caused Gilbert a fair bit of confusion, back when he was eighteen and dumb as a brick; and caused an irreparable fracture in their friend group, though Gilbert did not know why.

Both him and Roderich had always been supportive of her; and he had taken the news better than he expected, almost as a relief. 

_ No _ , Gilbert thought,  _ it was before that. _   
Something had already broken when she and Rod had started dating. And as much as Gilbert wanted to be happy for them, their relationship had stirred up feelings he didn’t know he had within himself. 

Jealousy. 

An ugly beast, for sure. But jealousy for what, and whom exactly? He did not know.   
Part of him was jealous that Roderich had chosen someone else, someone he cared about more than he did for him. He had known him since they were kids; their parents were so close, it was almost as if they were brothers.    
Part of him was jealous that Erzsébet, the person that back then was closest to him, his partner in crime, the one who could read him like an open book, the only one who could be a match for his recklessness had fallen in love with Roderich, and not with him. It felt like betrayal.

But there was something deeper lurking under the surface, something so scary that Gilbert had a hard time processing it even now, almost ten years later.   
Gilbert was jealous of their openness, of their freedom, of their truth.    
He was jealous of the way they seemed to have loved each other, and the courage they had to speak to him about it— while he was small, scared, a pathetic little child still, unsure of what he wanted and what he did not want, afraid of what his parents would say, of what his brother would say, of what Roderich and Erzsébet would think if they had known that sometimes he laid awake for hours at night, wondering whether he had a crush on the person he back then knew as a boy, as his best friend. How sometimes, he wished they could kiss, and be even closer. 

Erzsébet’s coming out had not eased things for Gilbert, not even a little bit.

The same feelings still lingered, only now he knew that not only she did not like him romantically, it was not just that she hadn’t fallen in love with him or that he was not her first choice— she couldn’t fall in love with him, not now, not ever.

Because as much as Gilbert had asked himself that question sometimes, he knew that he was pretty secure in his identity as a man. He couldn’t really imagine himself as a woman— nor as anything else but the guy he had always been.

And as much as he slapped himself in the face, chanting “ _she’s a lesbian, she’s a lesbian, she’s a lesbian_ ”, those feelings would not go away. They clung to him like a parasite, and he did not know how to solve the problem. 

* * *

  
  


The stress he felt must have been transparent, because as soon as he lifted his gaze from his phone, he was met by Romano’s concerned face.

“Are you alright? You seem sick.”

Gibert was surprised. It was the first time he had not greeted him with a swear word. 

“I suppose. You want to order something?”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” he said with a serious, sharp tone.

Now, Gilbert felt irritated. Maybe it was the situation he was in— maybe it was the _audacity_ this guy had, to speak to him like that. Although he had to admit he felt somewhat thrilled, as if he had just been challenged.

“Why do you care anyway?”

Romano averted his gaze. “Hey, you’re my friend. Of course I’m concerned, you know?”

Despite the endless late-night conversations he had had with Romano, it was the first time he had ever referred to Gilbert as a friend. Much to Gilbert’s own surprise, his words warmed his heart; maybe it was just what he needed that night. A change of scene. And an outsider’s perspective. 

“You’re right. I feel like shit. Do you have a spare hour or two for a drink?”

“I just finished my shift at the pizzeria,” Romano said, “of course I have time, you moron. Give me literally anything else to think about.”

Gilbert asked Sofiya to take over for a little while, and took one of the tables just for the two of them. He brought two glasses of mojito, and Romano immediately started chugging it as if it was a bottle of water in the middle of a run. 

“So,” he breathed out, “tell me all. What troubles you on this fine sunday night?”

Gilbert gulped. He didn’t know where to start.

“Romano, what would you do if you were in love with someone… but you just  _ know  _ that they will never love you back.”

Romano seemed shocked. “Why would you think that? You’re not Adonis, Gilbert, but you’re an ok looking guy. Yes, maybe the fact that you’re albino is a little weird at first glance, but—”

“It’s not— it’s not that,” he cut him off, “I mean, if the person in question is literally not attracted to  _ men _ , at all.”

“Oh. That’s a harsh one.”

Gilbert noticed that the atmosphere was becoming tense. He sipped on his drink, and the cool taste of mint comforted him. 

“Gilbert, can I ask an awkward question?”

“Of course. You knew you signed up for an awkward conversation the moment you asked me what was wrong.”

“ _Ha ha_. Very funny.” Romano paused, then coughed. “By any chance… is this person you’re talking about… a man?”

_ Oh my god. _ Gilbert was stunned. Did Romano feel awkward around him now because he had assumed he was straight all along?

“Why do you ask? Would that bother you?”

“ _ No _ ,” he answered a little too fast, and too loud. “Of course not. Are you really that dense? My own fucking brother is trans, and gay. Bi, I mean, he has a boyfriend,  _ I mean _ , why would I have an issue with it. Ugh.”

“I know, I know. We have a lot in common, in that sense.”

Romano gave him a puzzled look. “You have a gay brother?” 

“Yes, he’s three years younger than me. I don’t really like talking about him, but I do.”

“Why not?”

Gilbert sighed. “I don’t know. It’s complicated. He’s just… too good, I guess. He’s handsome, he’s well-loved, he’s way more mature than I could ever hope to be. I often feel like I’m a total failure, compared to him… like I’m still a teenager, and he already has his life figured out.” 

“You know,” Romano said, “we have a lot more in common than I thought.”

His gaze pierced through Gilbert’s defense wall; he suddenly felt exposed. Walking naked in the middle of a parade. 

“That’s,” he stuttered, and his own shyness surprised him, “that’s not what we were talking about, though.”

“You’re right. Anyway, I’m not some kind of homophobe, you freak. I’m asking you because I’ve been in a similar situation, I guess.”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. “In what sense?”

“God, do you have to make me say it out loud? For fuck’s sake,” Romano blurted, his face flushed red as a tomato. He leaned closer, and whispered into Gilbert’s shoulder. “I mean, I’ve had a crush on a guy before, and I was pretty sure he was… not into men. Not in that way.”

“ _ Oh _ .” Gilbert paused. Now, that was kind of unexpected. “I see. Well, no. I’m not— well, I’m not saying it  _ couldn’t  _ have been a guy. But, in this particular case, I’m talking about a woman.”

Romano backed up to look at him straight in the eyes, and gave him the dirtiest possible look. 

“You fell in love with a lesbian?  _ Really _ ?”

“Well, it’s not like I  _ chose  _ to! How is that different than being in love with some straight guy?”

“ _ Quiet _ ,” Romano hissed, “it just  _ is  _ different. A straight man… could actually be in the closet, and surprise you, in that sense.”

Just like Romano had surprised him a moment ago. It still didn’t seem fair, though. 

“A lesbian, though? She’s already out. She had years to figure out that she’s not interested. My advice… is to just forget about her. Confess, if you need to do it, but move on. And find someone who will like you for who you are.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

The answer left a bitter aftertaste in Gilbert’s mouth. Of course it made a lot of sense. It was the only logical outcome.

What else did he expect? So far, Romano’s insight hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know. Perhaps he needed another point of view, from someone who knew Erzsébet— and knew him— better than anyone else in the entire world.

He made a mental note to text Roderich before the night ended. 

“Gil.” Romano’s voice startled him. “I’m sorry you feel so bad about this, though. I…” 

He tried to take another sip from his glass, but all that was left was ice. When he put it down on the table, it hit the heavy cristal with a clink.

“Don’t think it’s because of you, ok? It’s not like you can help it. You’re an amazing guy, Gilbert. You’re fun, and like, really attractive, and I’m sure… I’m sure you’ll find someone who will make you feel appreciated. Because, uh. You deserve it.”

The way Romano nervously bit his lip made Gilbert’s throat feel dry. When he lifted his own glass, though, he found that it was also empty. 

“Thank you,” he said, too embarrassed to look up. “I really appreciate that.”

* * *

  
  


By Monday afternoon, Roderich had not replied to his text yet.

Neither he had replied to Erzsébet, though, and he felt like karma might be punishing him for that one. 

Gilbert locked the door to his apartment, thinking about how little he wanted to mop the floor of his bar— a boring, ungrateful, yet necessary chore.

Much to his surprise, he was greeted by two semi-familiar faces at the entrance. 

One was the friend that Feliks had brought over on Friday. Toris? Tobias? He couldn’t remember his name. 

Next to him, though, what really caught his attention was the magnetic glare of the cashier he had seen at Edeka. 

She seemed less angry today, but she was just as intimidating. 

“Hello,” she said, and then asked something to Toris. In Russian, Gilbert presumed. The guy responded with a nod, and waved at him awkwardly. 

“You must be Gilbert. I am Sofiya’s sister.”

“Yes, I am indeed.” Gilbert’s hands got sweaty. “And your name…”

“Natalya. It doesn’t matter much, though. My sister left something at the bar yesterday, and she sent me to take it back.” 

“Okay, sure.” He raised the shutters from the front door. “What is it that you need?”

“Her wallet. She said to check in the restroom.”

“Yeah, you can follow me.” 

The walk to the restroom was silent. Gilbert felt like he had to say something— at least to Toris— but he had no idea what. He wondered if it would be weird to bring up Natalya’s cashier job.

“I saw you at Edeka in Annenstrasse, the other day,” she said, almost as if she could read his thoughts. “I work there.” 

“Oh.” Gilbert decided to play dumb. It would probably be weird if he said he remembered her, too. “I’m sorry. I don’t really pay too much attention to cashiers.” 

“People like you never do,” she said coldly. 

In all of that, Toris had been silent. Gilbert couldn’t find the wallet anywhere, and he looked desperately in his mind for a way to break the ice. 

“So Toris, how are things going? What brings you here?”

A choking sound came from behind him. 

“Ah, uhm, I simply took Nata here. She told me the name of the place, and I told her I knew the way.” 

“Interesting.” Finally, Gilbert found the wallet, buried deep into the first aid bag. Why the hell had she placed it there? 

“Here you go, he said, handing it over to Natalya. “Toris, I’m looking forward to seeing you next Friday.”

“Ah, about that… I don’t know if I can come, sorry. I have way too much schoolwork to do this week. You know, with the end of the semester and all.”

“Oh. Well. That’s a pity.”

In the meanwhile, Natalya counted the money in the wallet down to the copper coins with scrupulous precision. She shoved it into her bag, and grabbed Toris by the wrist.

“That was all. Thank you, Gilbert.”

“No need to thank me. Tell your sister that I say hi, and that she did an amazing job last night.”

The thought of his conversation with Romano still made him feel uneasy. Thankfully, Sofiya already knew how to handle customers, and how to make a few basic drinks. 

“Alright, then. See you in case she needs anything else. Let’s go, Tolya.”

As she dragged him across the room, he made a sound that sounded vaguely like a “good-bye”. 

_ How small is the world, huh _ , Gilbert thought, puzzled by what had just happened. It was true that even in a place where millions of people from all over the globe lived, it was still incredible how many of them were so casually connected to one another. 

He went back into the bathroom to retrieve the mop, and checked his phone on the way: still no reply from Roderich. 

* * *

  
  


It was not closing time yet, but it would be in fifteen minutes or so; and the bar was empty and silent, with no one in sight but Gilbert. The stale scent of tobacco filled the air; even if no one had smoked inside the bar for decades, it still impregnated the furniture. He found it so unpleasant— because it was all too familiar, and brought back so many memories. It reminded him of why it had been so hard to quit smoking, the feeling of nails scratching at his throat and the sound of his own heartbeat, incessant in his ear, whenever he craved a cigarette. 

Monday nights were always like this, with few customers who came during the usual rush hours, a couple loyals who stayed until midnight, and then an hour of quiet time that Gilbert just spent alone behind the counter, counting the daily proceeds and mindlessly scrolling through Facebook. 

Since there was no point in leaving the bar open for longer, he locked up the old register and went to the bathroom to grab his jacket. 

He was getting ready to leave when his phone rang. 

_ I’m outside. I’ll wait until you’re done.  _

Gilbert hurried to the door: Roderich was waiting for him, standing with a few papers in his hand. 

“Hello, Gilbert. You’re closing early tonight?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. It was already spring, technically, but at night the air was chilly— little clouds of steam came out with his every breath, and fogged his glasses. “Did you read my text?”

“I did. Sorry I came late, it’s been a busy day. Monday is the day I have lessons with both Tessa and Ulrich, plus I had an audition tonight.”

“How did it go?”

“As usual, they said they’d call me back and let me know.” He shrugged. “So what did you need to talk about so urgently?”

“Ah, that. Uhm. You want to come to my place? So we can sit down and talk.”

“No, thank you. I’d much rather be done with it and go home.”

“Okay.” 

Gilbert hesitated. Looking at it now, this was a terrible, terrible idea. How could he even bring up the subject to Roderich, of all people? 

Where should he even begin?

He remembered the first time he had introduced Erzsébet to Roderich, when they were about thirteen and she was eleven. Both of them had scorned him afterwards.

_ Really? You are friends with someone like that? _

And it was true, they didn’t have anything at all in common, other than being enrolled in the same catholic all-boy school. Roderich, the snobbish heir of a noble family, raised to believe that his title still held weight in this world and elevated him over other people; Erzsébet, on the other hand, was the boisterous play yard bully, whose parents could afford the school tuition only thanks to state handouts. Gilbert had always been the link between the two of them, stuck in the middle, always making compromises. 

“Roderich, it’s about Liz. I think… I think I’m in love with her. And I’ve been for a very long time.”

Roderich looked at him like he was a corpse on an autopsy table. 

“Yeah, I had a feeling it would be about... this. How long has this been going on?”

Gilbert paused to think. How long indeed?

“I think… when we were seventeen, and the two of you started dating, and— I’m not sure, actually. Maybe it was even before that, and I just didn’t know. Actually, even after that, I didn’t know what it was that I was feeling for a really long time.” 

Gilbert took a deep breath. His heart pounded so loud he could feel the blood pumping through his fingertips, an insistent tingling that just wouldn’t stop. In spite of the cold all around them, his hands felt so hot— but it didn’t bother him. For seemingly no reason, he found himself chuckling.

“Oh god, sorry,” he said, “it feels so good to finally get this off my chest.”

He looked up to Roderich’s face. The city lights reflected in his glasses, shielding his eyes— but he could see his hardened expression.

“Gilbert, why did you want to tell this to me? What do you expect me to say? You know she will never feel the same.”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, confused by the harsh, cold atmosphere that had grown between the two of them. “I just wanted to tell you, because you’re… you’re like a brother to me, Rod. I know we have our differences, and we’ve fought a lot in the past, but I really value you. As a friend. And no one knows Erzsébet better than you do.”

Roderich turned his gaze away. He clenched his hands, ruining the papers he was holding. Gilbert could see it was a musical score, seemingly hand-written.

“So you wanted me to tell you whether you had a chance? God, what an asshole you are, and you don’t even know it.” 

Roderich’s voice was cracking. He sniffled. Droplets of tears ran down his flushed, bony cheeks.

“You want to know my opinion, Gilbert? Erzsébet was never in love with you. And she was never in love with me, either— and I was never in love with her.

You wanna know why I dated her? It was because of you, Gilbert. 

You and Liz— I don’t know, you always had a spark between you, and I knew. I knew that you had something that you and I could never have. I saw the way you looked at her, even when we were kids. And I wanted to have a piece of that.

I wanted to take her away from you, so that maybe you would start looking at me. But you didn’t! You didn’t,” Roderich yelled, his words interrupted by violent sobs. “You didn’t, not even now that you  _ know  _ she’s out of your reach. 

And I’m here, looking after you like an idiot, and you have no idea. I’m here and… I could be the one by your side, and you don’t even want me...” 

Gilbert was stunned. Roderich’s words were a storm, and he had just been hit by lightning— watching him cry, completely coming undone before him. 

He searched for an answer, for anything to say, desperate to find it within himself to tell him that he could look at him the way he wanted. To tell Roderich that he could love him back.

But no matter how much he looked, or how fast his thoughts raced, he could not see the man in front of him in that way. Roderich had been a brother to him, a bitter rival, a friend; they had shared so many struggles, and much of the same pain.

Just like him, Roderich’s parents considered their son a disappointment, unable to secure a career in the ever-growing competitiveness of the field of classical music.

When Gilbert had dropped out of high school to join a commune, Roderich was the one who came all the way to bring him back. He was the one who patched things up with Gilbert’s parents for him. 

Could he see him as a lover? 

“Roderich,” he spoke slowly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You’re sorry. I get it.”

Roderich walked away without giving him a second glance. Gilbert watched him walk away, helpless and disoriented. 

He could have shouted his name any moment, but he didn’t. 

Instead, he turned back home— before he got inside, he punched the wall so hard that his knuckles bled, his skin was broken and raw and red, and it burned like hell. 

He really wanted nothing more than a cigarette, but he had thrown away his last packet three years before, when Roderich and Erzsébet had helped him move into this new apartment. They had toasted together with a glass of shitty beer, he thought it tasted so good, or maybe everything just seemed rose-tinted right now.

New home, new life, without the ghosts of his past lingering all around him.

Or so he had thought. How naïve. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading this far! This one was a bit of a bummer, I know, but I promise things will get better! 
> 
> It's not my first time writing fic from Gilbert's POV, but I always find it so incredibly difficult. And it's painfully obvious that I know nothing about bars, the closest personal experiences I could draw from were those brief summer jobs I had in restaurants, and an ice cream place. Hopefully this was enjoyable anyway! Let me know in the comments what you think! And if you're impatient to see how his situation will evolve, simply read the next chapter- and let me know then! ;D


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks flew by, with the same slow pace of a muddy, dried-up river. 

Gilbert had given Sofiya’s number to Erzsébet, But was unsure if anything had come of it. Liz and her friends were so busy with rehearsals that he had not heard from her in a while, other than receiving an invite to go see their play. 

Gilbert wasn’t sure— “ _the magic flute, but it’s eighties-style glam rock instead of opera_ ” didn’t exactly sound like a promising description. A little too much glitter for his personal taste.

As for Sofiya, he didn’t know her well enough to ask her about whether Erzsébet had texted her or not. He had no idea if she was even open to dating women at all. Maybe Liz’s new crush was just as much of a hopeless pursuit as his own crush on her. 

* * *

It was a stupid, sentimental gesture, and it wouldn’t solve anything (he was quite ashamed of it= but often, during the lonely mornings he spent at home, he played the old CDs that Roderich had sent to him over the years. They were recordings of his own performances, spanning from middle school to a few years back, both solos and in the conservatory’s orchestra: mostly Mozart, with some other composers thrown in for a change of pace. 

Gilbert found one piece in particular haunting, he couldn’t get his mind off of it. 

Liszt’s Sonata in B minor. 

The CD was deep-buried into the box that contained them all, a blank without a cover, just the title written on it with a sharpie. And his initials, R.E., signed under it. He wondered if any other copy existed at all. He wondered when he had recorded it, or when Roderich had given it to him; he couldn’t remember, and he would probably never know.

In all these years, Gilbert did not know of its existence. He had never listened to it before; when he played it for the first time, the notes sounded like Roderich’s voice. Painful sounds played on a piano, where every key was made of rose thorns. Gilbert wished he could have heard it before. It took him about two minutes to break down into tears. 

* * *

The days at work were dragging along. He kept the place open just to prove to himself that he could do something, at least one thing without messing it up. 

Interestingly, his bar seemed to attract a little more customers than usual; most of them came straight from the italian restaurant nearby. 

Gilbert knew that this was supposed to be his career and his livelihood, but he found the customers to be a chore nonetheless. 

All, except one.

At around eleven, as he always did lately, Romano showed up at the counter. 

“Hello, Gil. You look godawful today.” He sat down and leaned forward, looking closely at his face. “How long has it been since the last time you have slept?”

“A few days,” Gilbert admitted, with a forced smile on his face.

“Looks more like a few weeks.”

“Gee, thank you Romano, thank you. You could have said it a little more tactfully.”

“I just speak truth to power, as always.”

Gilbert looked at him. His hair was covered in flour. “Anyway, you should tell me how long it has been since you last showered. You walk in here covered in flour and sauce, there’s enough to make a whole pizza off of you.”

“Ha ha. I deserved it. Well, what can I say, tonight’s shift was rough.”

“My entire week has been rough.”

Romano dusted a little flour off of his eyebrow. Gilbert had never noticed how long his lashes were. He stared, mesmerized, at his cinnamon-colored brown eyes. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a group of customers, approaching Gilbert for another round of drinks. He served them all one by one, but he could see Romano in the corner of his vision, leaning over the counter with his white t-shirt and his tanned arms. 

He felt his gaze on his back. Maybe it was because he had a drink before the beginning of his shift, but Gilbert suddenly felt hot and dizzy. 

When the other customers left, he turned his attention back to Romano. 

“You know, I haven’t seen your brother and his friends in a while. Aren’t you students supposed to have tests at the end of the semester?”

“Yeah,” Romano cringed. “About that. Promise me you won’t tell Felice, but I’ve skipped half of my classes. I just can’t… I can’t be bothered to care anymore.”

Gilbert was surprised to hear that. The last time he had heard Romano talk about his studies, he seemed really passionate about it. Library and archive science didn’t seem like the right fit for his loud, quick-tempered personality, but this came as unexpected news.

“Are you planning to drop out?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I just need a pause. I need some time for myself. And, Mr. Barista, I need a drink. Seriously, are you even doing your job lately?”

“ _Wow_ , and here I was, thinking we were friends.” Gilbert couldn’t help but smirk. “Something strong, I guess.”

“It’s a straight vodka kind of night. I could even drink _paint thinner_ right now.”

“Come on, let me make it a little sweeter at least! A little juice can make everything less depressing. ”

“Do as you wish, as long as it will get me drunk.”

As he mixed the drink for him, Gilbert noticed that Romano seemed more weary than usual. He knew that his job at the pizzeria stressed him out a lot; he also knew, however, that his and Felice’s grandfather was paying for their rent, with all that he earned from his Italian restaurant in Baden-Württemberg. 

Why did Romano feel the need to work himself to the bone? He reminded Gilbert of himself— the way he was when he was much younger, barely an adult. 

“You know,” he said, handong Romano his glass, “I thought the same thing… when I was younger. I ended up never going back to school. You need to think about this carefully, Romano. What is your backup? Making pizza for a living?”

“What’s wrong with pizza? My grandpa made enough for the whole family, by making pizza.”

“But your grandpa sent you here, so that you could study. All I’m saying is that I didn’t have a plan B, and I was this close to spending my life in a cult.”

Romano winced. “Damn. That’s…”

“Incredible? Too strange to be true? You’ll never know where life takes you. I have this place now, but sometimes I miss the freedom of not being tied to my parents. And the feeling of having found a new family… a place where I belong.”

Romano chugged down his whole drink, and asked for another. He insistently avoided Gilbert’s eyes, and bit the edge of his lip— once again, as if there was something on the tip of his tongue that he needed to say.

“Gilbert,” he spoke softly, in a low voice. “In fact, there’s a favour I need to ask you— I’ve been meaning to ask for a few days now, but…”

“Sure. I’ll listen.” 

“My brother… Felice. He keeps asking me to come to a date to meet this new boyfriend of his. And I want to see the bastard’s face, but I am too ashamed to go alone. I mean, I’m supposed to be his older brother, right? I’m supposed to have my shit together.

But I don’t, and I’m not really seeing anyone at the moment. I mean, I had a friend with benefit a few months ago, but it would be too awkward to ask her. So I was wondering if I…”

Romano took a deep breath. “I was wondering if I could ask  _ you _ . Shit. Honestly, I don’t know why I expected this to be any less awkward, I kind of want to disappear right now.”

Gilbert’s jaw, metaphorically speaking, fell down to the floor. 

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“It’s— a  _ fake  _ date, you don’t have to date me for real,” Romano blurted out, his face quick to blush. “It’s just this one time, and it’s just brunch, and we won’t even be alone.”

To be honest with himself, this sounded like a really, really bad idea. However, he also really needed a distraction— or better, a disruption, a change of scene in his everyday life. 

“Okay, Romano, challenge accepted. I will be your boyfriend for a day. I hope you can handle dating someone as handsome and awesome as I am.”

“Oh, fuck off. Give me another drink. And since you’re my boyfriend now, this one is on you. Be a gentleman.”

“As you wish, darling,” Gilbert said, and Romano responded with a tired smile.

He hid that quickly, though, behind his sauce-stained hand. Gilbert looked at his arms, covered in scattered dark hair. For a split second he pictured those same arms around his shoulders, his waist, and it surprised him how quickly his mind had jumped to that— and how quickly his body reacted, fluttering with a strange, tickling sensation. He tried to look away, but the image burned in his mind, in the pit of his stomach. 

The sensation lingered for the rest of the night. At closing time, he was so close to asking Romano to stay at his place. He had to stop himself: was he going to relapse into the same cycle once again? Rejected, and only looking for friends with benefits. No strings attached.

No, that was not what he wanted. And Romano deserved better than this. Maybe, one day, he wouldn’t have minded asking him on another date, a real one this time. 

Maybe as friends, with or without benefits, maybe as something more.

* * *

  
  


On Friday morning, Gilbert had received a text message from Erszébet, informing him that that night she and Feliks should be done with rehearsals early.

There were so many things that he wanted to tell her, and to ask her, that he decided could not be spoken over text messages.

More than anything else, he wondered if he should tell her about Roderich, and the argument they had. He wondered if she had already found out, if Rod had told her himself.

He wished he could invite her over at his place, to listen to the recordings he had left together. For once, perhaps, she would let him cry on her shoulder. 

The two of them arrived slightly late, around eleven.

“You said you would be done early,” Gilbert greeted them as they walked through the front door.

“ _ Giiiil _ .” Erzsébet sounded and looked exhausted. “I need to get smashed, like now.”

“I’m afraid you will have to take it slow tonight, miss.”

She pouted, and went to occupy her favorite table. Her hair was tied in a loose bun on the back of her head, leaving the nape of her neck exposed. 

She was beautiful, as she had always been, even tired like that, even when wearing an old and worn-out white t-shirt that she had probably thrifted somewhere. Gilbert couldn’t, however, shake a persistent thought from his mind, or more accurately, a picture from his eyes— of Romano’s back in a similarly formless shirt, and the way the white cotton fell on his angular shoulders, the way the sleeves contrasted with his tanned, hairy arms, so different from Erzsébet’s soft skin.

“What are you staring at? Do I look so bad?”

Erzsébet’s voice startled him. 

“No, but you do look exhausted. You too, Feliks.” He shot a glance at him. 

Gilbert and Feliks had never been close, but he knew he was practically a brother to Erzsébet. His usual flamboyance seemed to be completely extinguished, though. 

He had never seen him show up in track pants and a messy ponytail, but as they say, there is always a first for everything.

“That’s because I’m so tired of rehearsing, and whenever I try to sing my throat hurts, and get it all wrong.”

Erzsébet chuckled. “That’s not the whole story, Fel… and you know it.” 

“ _Hey_ , don’t you dare.” He practically glared at her.

Nonchalant, she smirked at Gilbert maliciously. “Feliks is having boy problems… he is too much of a chicken to ask out the guy he likes.”

“That is  _ not  _ it.”

Gilbert felt a wave of sympathy for the guy, especially when Erzsébet was in front of him, waving her arms and clucking in a mocking fashion. Feliks looked just exhausted; and he could relate to that on a deeply personal level.

_ It’s too soon to think about the mess I made tonight _ . 

“Why not? Dude, I promise you.” He looked at Erzsébet. He wouldn’t want anyone else to make his same mistakes. “You will regret it, if you say nothing.”

Feliks scoffed at him. “You don’t know the situation.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“Yeah, Fel,” Erzsébet pressed him. “ _ Explain _ . Or I will.”

“Ugh, fine.” He sighed. “I just feel like an idiot. I fell in love way too fast, for a guy who probably can’t stand me. He's too nice to say it, though. We had… a moment, then he ghosted me for three days.” 

Gilbert was puzzled. He had an idea of who he was talking about. “Maybe he’s just shy?”

“That’s what I said!” Erzsébet blurted out. “Remember Tolys, the dude he invited over last time? He's totally just shy! Oh Gil, Gil, where’s my beer? It’s a beer kind of night.”

“As you wish,” he said, and walked to the counter.

“Anyway,” Feliks continued, “he’s not shy. I mean, he is, but like… that’s not why. I got the feeling that maybe I went a little overboard.”

“What did you do?”

“I…” He paused. “I was drunk, and I overshared… some pretty personal stuff. And then, I took his hand. To my face. I swear, if he hadn’t pulled away, I would have kissed him there and then.”

Gilbert furrowed his brows. “Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“No undying confession of love? No marriage proposal?”

“No, you idiot. But it was still… I don’t know how to face him now.”

Gilbert poured him a shot of strawberry vodka, and brought it to the table with Erzsébet’s beer.

“This one’s on the house. Let’s just say I know how you feel. I had a little bit of _a moment_ this week as well.”

“Girl problems?”

“No, well, yes. Girl and boy problems. Both at the same time.”

“Damn,” Feliks said, “that’s rough. Thank god I’m gay.”

Erzsébet looked at him from the other side of the table. Her eyes read Gilbert like an open book— a spark of something passed through them, as if she had now connected some dots in her mind. 

“It was pretty rough. I feel better now, though. And your situation isn’t so bad, Feliks. I’m sure that if you just talked to him, things could be solved pretty easily.”

“That’s what I told him, too.”

“Thanks, Liz, very kind words from the girl who got a date in less than a week after getting her crush’s phone number.”

Gilbert’s heart sank in his chest. 

“Oh,” he said, “congrats. Is it Sofiya?”

She smiled at him, and fatigue disappeared, evaporated from her face. “Yes! She’s so sweet, Gil! I haven’t thanked you yet for that one, have I? God, I’m sorry, I’ve been so busy…”

“It’s fine,” he cut her short. “I’m just happy for you girls. And if she breaks your heart, she will have to deal with me!”

“Thanks, Gil!” She said, jokingly, sticking out her tongue at him. “Anyway, Feliks, you’d get a date too if only you stopped avoiding your prince charming.”

Gilbert tried to force himself to be cheerful, but the tension was palpable.

The subject of the conversation was completely different, unrelated, but for the rest of the night his mind kept going back to that night of two weeks before— to whether Erzsébet knew, what she knew, what she did not know. 

He also suspected strongly that the guy that Feliks was talking about was Toris— or was his name Tolya? He remembered Natalya calling him that.   
Either way, he had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps, the reason why he might have wanted some distance could have been related to her in some way.

The two of them seemed pretty close; he took note in his mind to maybe ask Sofiya on the next day, when they’d be alone cleaning the bar. Natalya was her sister, so she probably would have known if something was up with the two of them.

Feliks and Erzsébet stayed until closing time. This time, thankfully, she was buzzed but clear headed enough to be able to go home with her friend.

As Gilbert pulled the shatter down, he heard her ask Feliks to leave the two of them alone for a moment. She then walked behind him, waiting for him to be done.

“Gilbert,” she said, “can I talk to you before I go?”

“Sure.”

Gilbert felt his heart beating in his throat. There were so many things he wanted to tell her; yet none came to him right then. 

“Did you and Roderich have a fight again?”

He gulped. “Yeah. Um. How did you know that? Did he tell you?”

“No, but.” She retrieved her phone from her bag, and showed him a text. 

Gilbert read the words, over and over, until they spiraled in his head endlessly.

_ I am going back to Turin for work. Say goodbye to Gilbert from me.  _

“So he ran away, huh.” He wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “God, Roderich. We’ve always more similar than we think, after all.”

Erzsébet looked at him, silent. She seemed genuinely concerned; she let Gilbert cry, then broke the silence again, tentatively.

“I don’t want to mind your business, Gil. But what happened?”

He didn’t know what to say. So she did  _ not  _ know.

“We had an argument,” he said slowly, “he… confessed to me. After I told him I liked someone else. God, I’m such an asshole, I know. But I had no idea.”

Gilbert closed his eyes; in the span of a blink, he found himself wrapped in Erzséébet’s warm, strong hug.

“Gil,” she whispered into his shoulder, “you’re not an asshole. It’s alright. Sometimes… sometimes we know that someone close to us has feelings for us, and we just can’t reciprocate that… and it hurts. It hurts so much. I know it. And he knows how much you care about him. But it’s important to stay true to ourselves, Gilbert. 

Roderich wouldn’t have wanted you to pretend just to make him happy. And I know that you don’t want that, either.”

So she  _ did  _ know. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. He broke down, sobbing loudly into her shoulder.

It was the first time the two of them had been so close, physically, her chest pressed against his, her arms wrapped around his neck, her hand caressing his hair softly, tenderly.

Her perfume was a lullaby of pervasive musk and jasmine, its notes finally put his heart at peace.

When she let go of him, when she said goodbye to him with a kiss on his cheek, when he followed with his burning eyes her silhouette becoming smaller and smaller in the night (and _oh_ , how she burned with light in the darkness), Gilbert knew he was ready to let her go. 

* * *

  
  


When Thursday came, far too quickly, Gilbert had almost forgotten about his date with Romano. 

A note on his calendar reminded him; and he was quick to text Sofiya, asking her if she could take care of the bar for the first few opening hours. Thankfully, she agreed to come. Gilbert reminded himself to pay her extra for the night, if anything because he owed her his life in that moment.

After a shower and a solid thirty minutes spent nitpicking every single thing he didn’t like about his own appearance in the mirror, Gilbert headed over to his wardrobe.

This was supposed to be a date. And not a date as in, grabbing coffee with a cute guy— a date- _ date _ , to an actual restaurant, a special occasion. Or, well, a _fake_ date-date; not much changed, since his role was to make Romano look good in the eyes of his brother’s new boyfriend.

He searched through his drawers, to find nothing but old, worn-out, black t-shirts. A couple white ones as well, though he doubted it would make him seem any more elegant. 

All along, as he rummaged through pair after pair of distressed blue jeans, he could almost hear the siren’s call of something he had not worn in years. Tentatively, he opened the last drawer in his wardrobe.

In it, a suit wrapped in a plastic bag lay alone, untouched. 

The last time Gilbert had worn this suit was… he couldn’t remember it. Maybe it was at Roderich’s graduation party. Maybe it was at his cousin’s wedding. 

No, he was pretty sure he had rented another suit for the wedding— he wasn’t too sure that this thing would even fit him anymore.

He opened the plastic bag, and the smell of lavender came to his face, overwhelming, from the sachet of drawer deodorizer inside of it. 

For the first time in years, he tried it on. The iron-pressed cotton felt a little too stiff against his skin, used as he was to wear more comfortable clothes. The feeling, however, was all too familiar: childhood memories of the many parties his mother and father forced him to take part in, dressed up like a little puppet, ready to be presented to the adults who would one day be his “social connections”. 

He checked himself in the mirror: the pants were a bit too short, and the jacket felt a little tight on his shoulders. Other than that, it looked decent.

After all, his last growth spurt happened when he was about seventeen. He hadn’t really grown much since then, not in height, not in muscle mass, not even in size. 

He was resigned to the fact that he would probably forever look like a lanky teenager, at least until he started aging more visibly. 

He looked decent, however. He didn’t have a tie, but he thought the business casual look would be good enough for a date— he was meeting some random man he didn’t know, after all, not the Queen of England. 

* * *

Sofiya waited for him outside the front door. 

“Gilbert! Good afternoon!” She greeted him warmly, her blue eyes beaming with happiness. “Wow, look at you! You are so elegant today! What’s the special occasion?”

“Thank you,” he stuttered, “it’s, well, a date.”

Gilbert wanted to ask her about the date  _ she  _ had with Erzsébet, but he wondered if it would be too much, and too private. Instead, they chatted about the bar, and about coffee machines on sale. As they talked, he remembered there was something else he wanted to ask her, when it came to relationships. 

“Sofiya,” he said, “can I ask you something?”

“Sure! What’s up?”

Gilbert didn’t know how to phrase it without sounding like a nosy asshole, or like he was interested in pursuing her sister. 

“I just wanted to ask, are your sister and her friend… Tolys? Are the two of them dating?”

“Gilbert!” She jokingly scolded him. “I thought you were on your way to a date! Why are you interested in Natalya’s business?”

“No, no! Don’t get it wrong,” he gestured, “it’s not her, it’s him. And, uh. It’s not for me, it’s for a friend.”

“A friend,” she squinted, “ _ sure _ . But no, they are just friends. Actually… until a couple months ago, Tolys was my brother’s boyfriend. That’s how I met him, at least.”

Interesting bit of information, he thought.

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Well, you didn’t ask,” she shrugged. “Tolys and Ivan were together for a little while. They seemed really happy… and then they broke up, without much of an explanation. But they remained friends, and Tolys is still friends with Natalya, too. I don’t know him much other than that, though… poor soul, he has a lot of trouble with his family back home, that much I know. And I know how that feels.”

Gilbert was at loss of words. 

“Well.” He coughed to clear up his voice. “I also have a little brother, you know. His name is Ludwig, and he’s a mechanical engineer.”

“Wow! You must be very proud of him!”

_Well_ , he thought, _I am, when his career doesn’t remind me of how useless I am._

“I am. And I really wish I could see him more,” he said, with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Ivan is training to be a nurse! I’m also very proud of him. He is such a sweet boy.”

There was no trace of resentment in Sofiya’s smile, unlike his own. _Great_ , now he also felt like a shitty brother. 

“I raised him and Natalya from when we were kids,” she said, and her eyes suddenly darkened. “I know I can never be like a mother to them, and I know that we have our problems as a family— but I tried my best. It was hard when we first came here, but I’m so happy to see both of them succeed now, you know? It feels like my work paid off... 

Though, I don’t know what Natalya plans to do with a philosophy degree… ah, but I’m going off on a tangent, aren’t I? I wouldn’t want to make you late to your date!”

Gilbert said goodbye to her with a hug.

“I owe you one, Sofiya. I promise I’ll pay you well for tonight.”

“You better! Now go,” she said, and pushed him onto the sidewalk.

Gilbert was caught off guard by her strength— though, all things considered, he shouldn’t have been so surprised. 

* * *

  
  
  
  


The public transport on the way to the restaurant was packed, full of sweaty people and screaming babies. Sometimes, crowds made Gilbert marvel at the wide variety that existed within humanity; it made him feel less alone in his own strangeness. However, that day was not such a time. The  _ smell  _ of people in a closed environment was overwhelming. It didn’t help that the jacket Gilbert was wearing was slightly too heavy for the warm weather outside. He hoped the scent of his cologne wouldn’t wear off before the date even started. 

He somehow managed to arrive early on the spot, and he found Romano waiting for him. 

“Oh my god,” he said mockingly, seemingly without even thinking for a second about starting their date with a  _ hello _ , or  _ good evening _ , “just what the fuck are you wearing?”

Gilbert would have wondered whether he came to the date overdressed, if it wasn’t for the fact that Romano was wearing something even more fancy.

A silk, richly decorated shirt — Versace, probably — that he was sure he had seen Felice wearing before, paired with an all-black blazer and pants combination, and a golden chain necklace to top it off. 

“What, do you mean I look terrible? I’m sorry, let me go back and change, then…”

“No,” Romano pouted, “it was a joke, you know. You actually look fine. How is my outfit?”

Gilbert studied him more closely. It was an unusual sight, but he was undoubtedly handsome. 

“You’re looking great. I’m honoured to be your date, sir.”

Romano’s face flushed red. 

“It’s just for today, y’know,” he muttered, avoiding Gilbert’s gaze altogether. “Thank you, though.”

“ _Romano_!” 

A familiar voice came from the corner of the street. “Romano! You’re already here?”

Felice ran towards them, and he seemed like he was the only one who thought about wearing casual attire to their dinner date (though his idea of “casual”, Gilbert had to admit, was more formal than what most people would have considered such).

But it wasn’t Felice’s rather simple white shirt and jeans that caught his attention.

Gilbert’s jaw dropped when he saw the man walking right behind him.

_“L… Ludwig_?” 

He wanted to disappear. _He wanted to die_. 

“What are you doing here? Oh my god, I haven’t seen you— I’m sorry, I was very busy—”

His brother stood silently in front of him, looking down with an unreadable expression. He towered over him by a full head, and he hadn’t gotten any less serious, in the months they had spent apart. Responsible, reliable, tall, blond, with a handsome face that belonged in a silver screen era film, Ludwig was everything Gilbert knew he could never be— and he was reminded of that, every time they came face to face with one another. He felt bad about avoiding him, but sometimes, he felt like it was the obvious, better choice. 

“Gilbert,” he said, polite but obviously confused. “I’m so happy to see you. I hope you’re doing fine.”

“Wait, you know each other?” Felice stared at them, just as confused. 

“Yes,” he said, “Gilbert, um, this is kind of unexpected, and I didn’t want you to meet him this way but… here’s my boyfriend, his name is Felice. We, uh, we were on our way to an appointment, and I wouldn’t want to make people wait—”

“You don’t need to worry about that at all,” Romano interrupted him. He grabbed Ludwig's hand and shook it _a little_ too strongly. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Romano, Felice’s brother. And he’s… well, I mean, your brother, apparently. But also, my boyfriend.”

Gilbert wanted to be anywhere— anywhere but there. An active, erupting volcano seemed like a more appealing destination than the restaurant behind them. 

He knew it was too late to run away. 

_ Fuck _ . 

* * *

The inside of the restaurant was cozier than he expected. It seemed to be just another Italian restaurant like many others, and the prices on the menu were not too bad.

Felice ordered the entire appetizers menu,  _ as an aperitivo, _ he said. 

Gilbert felt sick. 

“I would have never guessed that you two were related,” said Romano, hiding behind his menu and trying to make sure that Ludwig couldn’t hear him through the thick, loud, one-sided conversation that Felice was having with him. “You look so different.”

“Well, what can I say. I didn’t exactly win the genetic lottery.”

Gilbert glared at Ludwig, and his stupidly chiseled jawline. 

“I think he looks funny, actually.” Romano smirked at him. “His suit looks like it’s about to burst. He’s almost like a character from a superhero movie. Clark Kent.”

Gilbert snorted. 

“You guys!” Felice turned towards them, alerted by the noise. “Romano, you didn’t tell me that you and Gil were dating! How long have you two been steady?”

“A couple months,” Romano said, like a liar. And _god_ , was he a bad liar.

“We started very casually. And then, well, it just happened.” 

Gilbert was only marginally better at telling lies, but it seemed to work on the oblivious two in front of them.

“I’m so happy for you guys, though! Gilbert, you have to take good care of my brother, he’s always been so lonely. And if you break his heart, well, you will have to fight me!”

Gilbert couldn’t think of anything less intimidating than that. 

“I promise I will be good to him,” he said, and casually held Romano’s hand. His fingers tensed up under his touch— Gilbert felt it, and he felt the dry skin of his knuckles, the slight brush of his hair. 

He looked at Romano, who seemed to have made it a point of pride to not look at his face back.

Feeling the tension, Ludwig took it on himself to change the subject of the conversation.

“So, Gilbert, how’s your job going? With the bar, and all?”

_ I see _ , Gilbert thought,  _ we are going straight for my throat _ . 

He knew that his resentment wasn’t fair; that his brother genuinely cared about him, and his question had no malice in it. Still, it was a bitter poison to swallow.

It’s actually going pretty well,” he said, “I recently hired someone to help me out on weekends. There’s quite a few regular customers that come pretty much every week.” 

“That’s good to hear. I’ll remember to pass by sometimes and order a beer or two.”

“I’ll be waiting for you, then.”

Gilbert said that, but he knew this was something that Ludwig said every time, and that he had never done before. He always justified it with his busy schedule, and the trappings of having an office job. Overtime work, working from home, having to stress about things even once his shift was over.

But Gilbert knew there was more than that: something had broken between the two of them a long time before Ludwig even started working. Before that, it was university that was keeping him busy. And before university…

He remembered the afternoons that he and Ludwig spent together as teenagers, playing video games or simply just reading comics in his room. 

Gilbert remembered how much he talked to Ludwig about his plans to run away: far away from their parents, far away from their suffocating expectations. Ludwig always scolded him, he told him to not say such things— almost as if he was scared that their father might be listening somewhere, as if the words could have reached him no matter how far away he was. 

Ludwig never thought that Gilbert’s plans were serious. Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t want to believe that he would actually do it.

The conversation was picked up by Felice, who talked nonstop about his anxiety, about the play that would go on stage the next night, about how stressful it was, until the waitress came to their table with three trays covered in appetizers.

Olives, fish salad, a whole plate of salted meats, little white bread sandwiches, a lot of different pickled vegetables.

Romano and Felice immediately filled up their plates, and urged him and Ludwig to do the same. The sound of their voices was white noise in the background: they said something about their grandfather, and how the pickled vegetables he made were definitely better. 

Gilbert looked at the trays and struggled to pick anything. He didn’t feel hungry at all.

He settled on a sandwich, but when he bit into it, he retched when he realized it was overflowing with cream cheese and mayonnaise. 

“Shit, did you choke on that bread?”

Romano gave him a vigorous slap on the back, which only accomplished to make the situation worse. The other two looked at him like he had just broken a leg in front of everyone.

“It’s fine, it’s fine! I just hate the taste of mayo, it’s all.”

“All that scene for nothing, then!” Romano gave him another slap for good measure. “There, there. Try a tomato.”

He held a greasy, wrinkly thing on his fork, and had every intention to feed it to him.

“Is that even a tomato? It looks like a dried-up ballsack.”

“Shut your mouth, you— I mean, open it! Say  _ aaah _ !”

Gilbert tried to protest, but Romano managed to shove it in his mouth as soon as he tried.

The flavor was not something he was used to, but it wasn’t bad. It was salty, and kind of sour; he could definitely taste the olive oil and the herbs used to season it. 

“So? How is it?”

“It’s nothing like the one our grandpa makes,” said Felice before he could even respond. “Those are really dried in the sun. When me and Romano were kids, we used to make them with the tomatoes in his vegetable garden…”

“It’s… better than I expected.” 

“Eat up, then.” Romano filled his plate with all the tomatoes on the tray. “You should try some prosciutto, too. I’m sure you’ll like it.”

“Thank you, but—”

Gilbert couldn’t even finish the sentence, that Romano’s fork was already approaching his mouth. He held up a hand to block it, and got his palm stabbed as a result.

“No, Romano! No! I’m  _ vegetarian _ ,” he cried out, “Honestly,  _ we are dating _ and you don’t even remember this?”

“R… right. I got caught up for a moment, sorry.” Romano stared at him wide-eyed. “You can eat up the tomatoes, then.”

Gilbert did as he was told. 

“I’m sorry, Gil,” Felice apologized from the other side of the table. “If I had known, I would have picked another place to eat.”

“Gilbert is going to be fine. I looked at the menu, there’s plenty of stuff he could order.”

Ludwig’s approach was pragmatic as always. 

“Thank you, Lud.” 

His brother winced. Gilbert felt embarrassed once he realized he hadn’t used that nickname in years. 

“Well,” he said, after eating the last bite in his plate as quickly as he could, “I think I’m gonna go out for a smoke. Care to join me, dear?”

Romano rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

He followed him on the way out.

* * *

  
  


“Didn’t you tell me you stopped smoking a few years ago?”

Gilbert turned his head and smiled at him.

“Yes, but Ludwig doesn’t know it.”

“Well, my brother does.”

“Shit.” Gilbert shrugged. “Well, they will have the time to figure it out. I just needed a little fresh air, is all.”

Romano averted his gaze, staring blankly at the other side of the street.

They stood there in the silence as people walked all around them. Rush hour had already passed, leaving its place to the golden hues of sunset, but the street was crowded with pedestrians regardless. 

Their shadows walked on the asphalt, long and slender, they made the world around them an optical illusion: never quite still, never pleasant to look at. 

“Gilbert,” Romano called his name, slowly, as he walked closer to him. He stopped before their arms could touch— but he was  _ close _ , so close. Gilbert’s body felt covered in goosebumps.

“Gil, I’m sorry I put you in this situation. I didn’t mean to. If I had known… If I had known, shit, I would have asked someone else.”

“Isn’t it funny, though?” Gilbert took a deep breath. “Your little brother is dating my little brother. It’s just a coincidence, but sometimes the universe likes to play stupid games like this.”

“Does it upset you?”

He shrugged. “No, I just think it’s a little strange. Those two are like water and oil.”

“I wonder how they have met,” Romano said. “No offence, but Ludwig doesn’t look like the type to hang out with a bunch of theatre kids.”

“He really isn’t.” Gilbert laughed.

Maybe this was karma, trying to send him a message. Or maybe, the planets had aligned on that day, for this date to either be doomed by fate or to bring forward something new.

Gilbert looked in the sky: he could only see the moon, peeking down at them from behind a cloud, pale and hidden by the ever-present sunshine. 

“Romano,” he asked, “Do you ever feel like you want to forget everything? To run away from all your problems, and restart your life from scratch.”

He grumbled something in response. “I don’t know.” 

“This might sound really out there,” he said, and already regretted it halfaway. It was too late to go back now. “If I asked you to date me for real, what would you do?”

Romano stood extremely still, the sun shining bright behind him.   
His entire being was overshadowed by the blinding light, it embraced him like fire. Romano was burning, his eyes were burning, dark embers and smoke.

“Gilbert… are you serious? Or are you making fun of me?”

“I am extremely serious.”

He adjusted his bangs behind his ear, his fingers trembling. “But what about… your…”

“It’s over,” he said, without even needing to think of an answer. “It’s over, and I want to start over. And I like you, Romano.”

Romano’s eyelids overflew with tears. He hid his face in his hands as quickly as he could.   
“Fuck! I can’t believe this is happening for real. Honestly, what the hell!”

Gilbert took a step towards him, then another. He was so afraid of breaking that fragile tension, of overstepping a boundary, of being too close.

He tapped Romano’s hand lightly with his thumb.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

Romano shook him away, wiping his tears vigorously with his hands clenched in fists.

_ Ah, I messed up _ , Gilbert thought. _ I ruined everything, once again. _

Instead, it was Romano who took a step forward this time.

“Hey, Gilbert.” His voice was low, his lips, so red, barely moved. “Can I kiss you?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me writing prumano like: I'm gonna give the gays everything they want... shout out to my friend Yuki the one and only prumano royalty haha   
> I hope this was good! Let me know! Feedback is appreciated! Loved! I find it delightful! It's almost three am and I'm really excited to post this! 
> 
> You know, fun fact, fun trivia moment author's notes time. The main reason why I wrote this monster of a fic is that 3 years ago when I first joined the fandom I wrote a high school AU fic, and like, people seemed to really like it but... whenever I look at it I cringe a little, it's so old and it's been so long, and I feel like I've grown as a writer since then.   
> This was kind of a way to prove that, if only to myself- I have grown, and even if it's still a light-hearted AU, I can do something committed and complex and finish it! While I'm at it, shout out also to my fiancé, who has supported me all the way through and did help me as a beta reader for this fic. Well, he always does, but like- this is so long I feel he deserves extra credit for that. 
> 
> And speaking of finally finishing something! To see how this all ends, and see where Feliks and Tolys are, check out the next chapter: it's gonna be the last one!


	4. Chapter 4

Feliks’ room was small and narrow, barely big enough to fit his bed and a wardrobe in it. The presence of a wardrobe was proved almost useless by the fact that most of his clothes were scattered on the edge of his bed, and some over the floor. 

The situation hadn’t always been so dire. In fact, the messy state of his room was a recent development, partly due to his lack of time to actually spend at home, and partly due to the depressed state he had sunk in during the past month. 

He knew that he was being dramatic, irrational, and that his situation had turned into the most stupid cliché. He wanted so badly to sweep his own emotions under a rug and blame it on stress, on finals, on how much he hated his father or something, anything but heartache.

It was, however, an exercise in futility. 

Feliks didn’t even know why he felt that way. Trying to analyse his own feelings only led him to further spiral down, and sink into the cold, bottomless waters of his own anxiety. 

It wasn’t like he had gotten  _ rejected _ ; he had barely made any move at all. If anything, Tolys was as nice to him as he had always been, at least over text. 

It wasn’t like he had known Tolys for very long, either.    
Was that how it felt to be lovesick?

As unreasonable as it seemed, though, Feliks knew that the way Tolys looked at him was different after that night. Whenever he met him on campus, he could see the way he averted his eyes, the alert twitches of his eyelids whenever Feliks made a sudden movement, or when he said his name. Like he feared and expected  _ something  _ that could happen at any moment.

But even worse, and that was what he couldn’t get over, Feliks knew that the way he looked at Tolys was different. And he wondered whether he was the reason for the thick fog of awkwardness that clouded every interaction between the two of them. 

How much did Tolys know? 

Had he noticed the way that Feliks saw him, the longing looks he shot him across the corridor, with his heart trembling like a robin— how he yearned for him anxiously, ready to flee the moment he seemed to do so much as to return his gaze? 

Had he noticed the way he tried to hold himself together whenever they talked, how desperately he clinged to a performance— had he noticed the armor he was so used to hiding his every vulnerability behind?

Feliks was a bad liar, and as soon as he stepped off the stage, a bad actor. He hid in plain sight, behind his flamboyance and loud voice; but anyone who knew him could see it for what it was— a farce, a way to put a comedic spin on his own personal tragedies. 

He had grown weary of it, and the cracks had begun to show on the surface.

He sighed and sank back into his bed. Facing him from above, the familiar warm colors of an old, ripped poster: Claire Danes and Leo Di Caprio in Romeo + Juliet, surrounded by hundreds of candles. He had taped it to the ceiling with the help of Erzsébet, back when they were young and spent hours, days in his bedroom, living their own secret life.    
He still remembered how she had told him that she wished she could be as pretty as Juliet; how he had cut up his communion dress for her to wear, and together they made a pair of wings out of scrap paper. The smile on her face, when she first saw herself in the mirror, was priceless; it stirred something in the pit of his stomach. Feliks wished he could wear an armour and stand next to her, gallant and tall as she was. 

The next day, he cut his shoulder-length hair into a disastrous bob with a pair of kitchen scissors. It was horrible, and his father screamed at him for it, but… 

Without even realizing it, his eyes had gotten swollen with tears, ready to burst. And speaking of the devil, he received a text from Erzsébet herself. 

_ Stuck here for another hour :( srsly hate this shit right now. FUCK mozart  _

He smiled and typed in a quick reply.

_ you were the one who auditioned for the part bitch … could’ve been my papagena instead and now you’d be home chilling with me lol  _

He hit send. It had been a running joke between the two of them for the past semester, as soon as it was revealed that the part of Papagena would be played by Monika, a girl in Feliks’ year whose sight he could barely stand. 

However much he liked to joke about it, Feliks knew that her talent would have been wasted on such a minor part. Liz had such an amazing, scratchy, husky singing voice that went perfectly with the hard rock songs arranged for the Queen of the Night by the band in charge of the music. Feliks wanted her to shine, now that it was finally her chance. 

He could almost hear Erzsébet sing, and see her smile, radiant as it was on the day she had looked in a mirror and seen herself as Juliet; he had noticed how happy she seemed to be with her new girlfriend, except... 

His thoughts wandered back to the night before. She had asked him to wait for her to have a word with Gilbert; when she came back, her face was still wet with tears. 

He wondered what had happened between the two of them, but was too afraid to ask.   
At the back of his mind, the conversation he had had before they left the bar played incessantly, like a broken record.    
Gilbert’s words to him, perhaps, had some truth in them.   
_ I’m sure that if you just talked to him, things could be solved pretty easily. _ _   
_ Yes, but how? If he could barely stand to be seen, how could he even begin to deal with his own anxiety when it came to being heard? And how could he speak of things he could barely grasp, no matter how hard he tried to put them into words?   
He was sickeningly self-conscious of all the different ways he could, and would probably mess everything up; every choice of words just sounded wrong in his head.   
_ I saw you, I heard your name and I fell in love with you, and I can’t help but fall in love with you more the more I know you…  _

He watched the ceiling turn auburn with the sunlight that got into his room, washing it entirely with red-tinted hues. The candles burned around Juliet and Romeo, perfectly still, as they had always been. Before he could even realize, he had fallen asleep.

* * *

  
  


The clinking of his mother’s keys hitting the ground suddenly woke him up. 

Everything was dark around him. Feliks touched around his bed to search for his phone: when he finally found it, he quickly checked the time.

The light of the screen made his eyes burn. It was almost eleven. He stretched his back and legs, and decided to go check on his mom; he found her standing in the doorway, hunched down with her phone light looking for the keys that fell from her hands. Luna and Lucy, their house cats, greeted her with their tails high.    
Feliks turned on the light and she twitched, startled. 

“Mama,” he said, his voice groggy and half-stuck in his throat. “You’re home. Hey.”

She looked up and pointed the light straight into his eyes.    
“Feliks! Ah, sorry,  _ skarbie _ — I didn’t mean to wake you up.” 

“It’s ok, I can’t even remember when I fell asleep. Ah, I’m sorry I didn’t cook anything for you, mom. I fed the cats, though.”

She smiled, the corners of her mouth framed by wrinkles. She looked so tired. 

“It’s ok, dear. There’s still leftover rice, I think. Unless you had some?”

“No, no, I… I picked up something on the way home.” Feliks hoped his mother wouldn’t hear his stomach grumble: truth was, he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. 

Thankfully, she seemed too tired to notice. She picked up the keys and walked to the fridge, muttering something that Feliks couldn’t hear. 

The microwave beeped loudly. Feliks thought to go back to his room, until he saw his mother take out two empty bowls from the cabinet. 

“Hey, why don’t you have some food with me? It’s been so long since we had a chat.”    
He shrugged. “Yeah, ok.” 

A little rice would be good. He sat at the table, and took one mouthful of it.   
It was hot on the outside and still fridge-cool on the inside; sticky, dry and absolutely gross. It was also the best thing he’d tasted in a while. 

He asked his mother how her day had been at work, and she told him of a fight she had with one of her coworkers. 

“I wanted to throw my coffee over her immaculate white shirt, I swear,” she scoffed as she finished the glass of wine in front of her. “How about you? How’s the play going?”

“It’s coming together. My costume looks kind of silly, but it’s a good part, so. You’ll be able to come and see me, right?” 

“I will, of course I will,  _ skarbie _ . Should I call your dad and see if he wants to come?”

Feliks gagged. He tried his best to keep what he had eaten down, but he could feel a fit of overpowering nausea taking over. 

“Mama. No. You know what he’s gonna say already.”

“But you can’t say that, Fel. Maybe this time…”

“Maybe I don’t want to see him, have you thought about that?” 

Feliks grinded his teeth. Goddamn it, that man was the last thing he wanted to think about. His mother, no longer smiling, looked down at her plate, the tense lines on her forehead betrayed her anger. 

“He’s still your father, Feliks, and my husband. How many times do I have to remind you? You don’t talk about him like that. Not with me.”

She clutched at the rosary she always wore under her blouse, fidgeting with the pearls of it. 

_ Honour thy father and thy mother _ , in other words.    
There were so many things he wanted to say, but he didn’t want to have a fight with his mother, not at a time like that. The most pressing issue was that his father did not honour his role as such, or his presumed love for his mother at all.    
He felt frustrated at the tendency of his mother to look past that man’s mistake, her inability to accept the painful truth that her husband would never come back; and as much as he tried not to blame her, victim of the circumstances and her own naïveté, martyred for her own convictions on too many fronts— he could not help but resent the part of her that still hoped for a happy family reunion, as the scriptures intended, as God designed, and so on.    
And he couldn’t help but blame himself, knowing that he had been the cause of the mayhem. The weight of knowing that his mother’s light had become dim, and her beautiful blond hair was peppered with white just because of him, it crushed his heart sometimes. 

He ate in silence, but his thoughts were restless, as he desperately tried to come up with something, anything to change the subject, when he suddenly remembered that he had almost made up his mind on another way to use the second ticket he had been allowed to reserve. 

“Speaking of the play, mama,” he blurted out, “can I ask for your advice on something?”   
She adjusted her glasses and looked up at him. “Sure, sure thing darling.”

Feliks stood up to make himself a cup of tea— and, incidentally, to not have to face his mother while talking about… that. He didn’t remember the last he had talked about his crushes to her: perhaps when he was around twelve, and the man of his dreams was Robert Pattinson. Certainly not once ever since he came out.    
“So, there’s this guy I like.” His voice came out of his throat, several octaves higher than usual, which made him cringe with embarrassment. “And he’s like… he’s very sweet. He studies history at my same uni. And I was thinking we could use the other ticket I have, to uh, invite him to come see the play.”    
The sound of the microwave filled the room.    
When his mother turned her head, Feliks was surprised to see her smile.    
“So you have a boyfriend? Finally! When were you going to introduce him to me?”

“ _ Mom _ !” He cringed again, his face deep red and uncomfortably hot. “He’s, uh, he’s not my boyfriend. I just said I  _ like  _ him. I’m not even sure… I don’t think he likes me back, to be honest.”

“Oh,  _ skarbie _ , come here.” He took a step closer, and his mother wrapped her arms over his shoulders. Her hair smelled like shampoo, and the floral cologne she always bought at the perfumery nearby. 

“First of all, you don’t need to always be so negative. Listen to your mama— you’re so beautiful, and anyone would be lucky to be with you.” 

“What can I say,” he spoke into her shoulder, suffocated by her tight hug, “I owe that to you, mom.” 

“You have my hair, but you have your father’s beautiful green eyes. I know you don’t like to hear it, but whenever I look at you, I remember the day that me and Krzysztof met… have I told you that story, kochanie?”   
Feliks sighed. “Yes, mom, you have.”

“Well, I will tell you anyway. Sit, sit.”    
“Okay, okay. Let me get my cup of tea first.”   
She let go of him, and after Feliks managed to detangle his hair from her glasses, he chose a bag of tea  -jasmine green would be good to calm down- and sat down next to her. 

“You know, Feliks, when I was young, I lived in a small town in the countryside. I had many friends, but I was the black sheep of the group... most of them only finished high school, and many of my classmates even dropped out early to marry their boyfriends.    
I wanted to be a nurse, though,” she said, and leaned down to pet Luna, “and I desperately wanted to escape that rural town.” 

“So my father, bless his soul, allowed me to come to Germany and study, as long as I promised to always call home, never skip church, and to not fool around with guys.    
And one evening in church, when we were organizing the next catechism class for the kids, your father walked in.” 

Feliks rolled his eyes. He knew exactly how the story went on. His father had stumbled in there by accident, thinking he was walking into the alcoholics anonymous meeting.    
And he was handsome, and dashing, and was wearing a leather jacket, like Fonzie from Happy Days, and he had…    
“The most striking green eyes, so bright they were almost golden,” his mother said, predictably. “And I looked at him and I thought, wow, so it was true that love at first sight exists.”

_ And look how that worked out for you _ , Feliks thought. He nodded along, and took a sip of tea. It was bitter and oversteeped, but he liked it that way.    
“And you see, skarbie, I was so shy back then… I had never gone out with a boy before. I looked so dorky, with my polka dot dress and my braided hair, and I thought that someone like your dad would never like someone like me; and that even if he liked me, my father would have never approved of him. But, Feliks, mój kochany, I was wrong. He fell in love with me, and he gave me the most beautiful gift of them all...” Her soft, cold hand caressed his cheek. “I will forever be thankful to him for that, because no matter what, I’ll always have you.”

“Thank you, mama.”

Feliks’ eyes stung, but he managed to hold back the tears for long enough. No matter how much he knew, and reassured himself, that his mother loved him, that his mother would always be by his side, he could only see himself as undeserving, a nuisance in her life. The obstacle she couldn’t have predicted, a landmine on the peaceful path of her marriage.   
It was a romantic story, for sure, but the ending was missing: just like the rest of her friends, his mother had dropped out of school to get married, his father’s almost fanatic obsession with rules and self-control, with scripture and discipline had made her and Feliks’ life a cage of properness and shame he thought they could never escape. When ultimately he left them behind, the freedom he had yearned for came at the price of his mother’s broken heart.    
And yet, almost as if she could read his thoughts, her eyes told him all that he was so scared to hear:  _ I love you, if I could go back in time and choose again, I would always choose you _ .

“I’m sure,” she said, “that this boy you like will surprise you, Feliks. I said you’re beautiful, but it’s not just that… you’re so bright, and talented, and I’m so proud of you.” 

“Thank you, mama.”

Feliks knew he sounded like a broken record, but he didn’t know what else to say.    
“By the way, do you have any picture of him to show me?”

“Ah,” he shook his head, “no, I don’t. He’s… very camera shy.”

“So when I meet him at your play, it will be a surprise? What should I tell him? I don’t want to scare away my future son-in-law…”

“ _ Mooom _ !” Feliks buried his face in his hands, embarrassed by his mother’s curiosity. “You don’t have to say anything. Just be nice. And don’t tell him — ” 

“I won’t, dear, I won’t!” 

She stood up to gather the dishes, and gave him a small kiss on the forehead. 

“Thank you for telling me, _kochanie_.”

Feliks took his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants: it was almost midnight. He opened a new text, and with the reassuring sound of his mom humming a cheesy love song, he typed an invitation for Tolys to come and see him make a fool of himself on stage. 

* * *

  
  
  


At three o’clock, in front of the cafeteria: the time and place that Tolys had chosen for their meeting had an ironic tint to it.    
He remembered the first time he had taken him there, pale and shaking and lost.    
Feliks opened his phone’s front camera to check his own face; he looked horrendous, his eyebrows overgrown and a full hormonal breakout on his chin. Damn testosterone and damn his own damn self for oversleeping that morning, after he had spent the night listening to the echo of his heartbeat resounding in his ears, checking his phone every five minutes for a response that he knew wasn’t going to come until the morning.

Tolys was waiting for him right in front of the door, standing and awkwardly looking at the leaves of one of the potted plants next to him. He looked so stupidly handsome.    
Feliks wondered how it was even possible for him to look this good, effortlessly as he did. His hair was tied in a ponytail that was already coming undone, brown curls spilling out on the sides of his head. The thought of freeing his hair from its precarious containment made Feliks blush: he could almost feel it on the tips of his fingers, the vivid sensation of combing through it with his hand.    
It made him shiver. The moment he flushed red, staring like an idiot was, of course, the moment Tolys decided to stop playing with the plant and start looking around.    
And there Feliks was, completely unprepared. Tolys waved at him, and he awkwardly waved back. He got closer, and with each step he took, Feliks felt his need to sink into the ground become stronger and stronger. 

“Hi, Feliks. How are you?” 

Feliks tried to smile. It turned into a grimace. 

_ I want to die, thanks!  _   
“I’m fine, thanks. A little stressed. I’m sorry, I know I look like a mess, and — hah, I’m sorry, I’m talking too much.” 

“I figured, with the rehearsals and such. I hadn’t heard from you in a while, I was starting to get a little worried.”   
“Yeah,” he laughed nervously, scratching at his chin, “I missed talking to you.”    
“I missed you too. To tell you the truth, I wanted to ask you to meet up again, but I was afraid I’d be a bother.”

There was nothing but kindness in Tolys’ eyes, endless forests of green peeking behind his eyelashes. Feliks’ heart skipped a beat.    
“ _ No _ !” His voice came out a little louder than he intended. “I mean, no, you’re not a bother. Besides, I worry about the same thing, so…” 

“Oh, really?” Tolys seemed genuinely surprised. “No, don’t worry about it. I’m almost done with my classes, I have a little more time lately. Ah, and…”

He stopped suddenly to look at someone in the crowd. Feliks turned his head, but no one in particular stood out to him.    
Tolys noticed, and he was quick to finish his sentence.    
“Sorry. I actually have started writing something for my blog again, and it’s been a while since I was able to sit down and do that.”

“Whoa, that’s like, awesome! What is it about?” 

“Well, if you want to hear about it, why don’t we— we could sit down for a little and grab some coffee? It’s on me.” 

The way Tolys bit his lips when he stuttered, pulling at the neckline of his old t-shirt burned into Feliks’ eyes like sunlight, and like sunlight his words made him feel embraced, his whole body taken over by warmth. He realized that he was completely flushed, but he almost didn’t care.    
He accepted the invitation with a nod, and followed Tolys into the cafeteria. 

Feliks had decided that it was the right day to treat himself, and that a hot cocoa with extra cream was the right way to do so. He dipped his spoon into the cream as he watched Tolys talk passionately about the goddess Rán, and how her function mirrored, in a sense, that of the Valkyries. The thrill and pride of death in battle, opposed to the fear of the unknown that was death at the bottom of the sea. 

It was fascinating stuff, for sure, but not as fascinating as the sound of Tolys’ voice, rapturing as the way he gestured when he got  _ really  _ into something. Feliks could barely follow, but he could sit there and listen to him for hours.    
“And, you see, it taps into some interesting stuff about gender roles as well. The net was, after all, a textile in a sense. But I still have to look a little more into that.”

“That’s wicked cool,” Feliks said, “I’m totally gonna read that when you’re done. Because it’s cool, yes, and also… as a payback for coming to see our play.”

“I’m really excited for that, actually. If you hadn’t offered me a ticket, I was going to buy one myself.”

“Really?” Feliks’ eyes widened.    
_ It’s not about you _ , he thought,  _ don’t get your hopes up, he just wanted to see a musical or something. Maybe he wanted to come to see Erzsébet and the others as well.  _

Tolys nodded. “Yes, it looks like it’s going to be… well, different than what I’m used to, but in a fun way.”    
“We’ll do our best to make sure it is fun. Besides, you get to see me jumping around like a clown, wearing the silliest looking costume you could imagine.” Feliks said, rustling in his wallet to find the ticket for Tolys. “The joy of being Papageno, you could say.”

He handed it over once he found it, and Tolys stored it safely in his jeans’ pocket.    
“I’m sure you can make anything look good, though.”

Feliks’ heart almost exploded on the spot.    
“Ha ha, no, I promise you it’s impossible!” He finished his hot chocolate in one gulp, and only managed to burn his esophagus as a result. “You should see Liz’s costume, though. She’s gonna be like, the star of the show.” 

“The queen of the night?”   
“Yeah. Ah, I almost forgot, before I go to the rehearsal…”   
“Yes?”   
“Well,” Feliks said, “you’re going to be sitting next to my mom. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“Not at all. I’ll ask for her Mazurek recipe, if I get a chance to say hi.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The rehearsal was, in all senses, _brutal_. The awareness that the time to perform in front of a public was drawing closer and closer was palpable in the air, filled with dread and tension.    
Feliks had been mercilessly critiqued by the professor and the director for missing several of his high notes (damn testosterone, and to hell with all of them), and to top it off, the tights that Felice had sewn for him had ripped off right where the seam ran close to his ass crack.  _ Great _ . 

It wasn’t actually that big of a problem, practically speaking: Felice promised it would take one hour at most to repair it, and had reassured him that no one had noticed it. However, it wasn’t the practicalities that mattered. Emotionally, Feliks was shattered. 

Erzsébet must have noticed it when, after receiving endless praise, she found him sulking in front of a mirror in the backstage, and immediately trapped him into one of her deadly choke-holds. 

“ _ Feeeeeliks… _ oh no, baby, what’s wrong?”

“Liz, you’re suffocating me!”

Feliks’ protest was to no avail. 

“I won’t let go until I see a smile on your face!”

He forced himself into the most awkward smile he had ever seen. “Happy now?”

“Of course not,” she huffed, “what happened? Is it because of what Fritz said? God, don’t even listen to that son of a bitch. Remember that the only reason why he’s there yelling at us is that he failed to become the next Fred Astaire.” 

“It’s not like he’s wrong, you know.”

“He’s just frustrated because the big day is… god, it’s tomorrow. Jesus. When you put it that way, it’s terrifying.”

“If it’s terrifying for you, just know that I invited Tolys to come and see me. And I’m gonna sound like a fool, and my voice is going to crack like I’m a 13 year old boy…”

“Wait, wait, what?” Erzsébet interrupted him. “You invited your handsome viking man? Oh oh, Feliks… I’m so proud of you!”

She held him even tighter, dangerously so. 

“Liz! Let go!”

“Fine, fine.” She finally released his neck before she had a chance to break it, and placed a hand on his shoulder instead. “You know what this means, Fel?”

He looked up at her, his lips pursed into a pout. 

“What?”

“It means we are going out to celebrate! One last time, before we both die on that stage tomorrow.” 

“Deal,” he shrugged, “but only if you promise you won’t get drunk.”

“I solemnly swear I will only have a glass of water.”

“Gilbert will be really pissed about that, you know.” 

Erzsébet winked and gave him her best smile. 

“It’s not like I usually pay him, anyway!”

The air was unusually chilly, even for that dark, strange time between daylight and dusk, when the weather tended to be colder. Erzsébet had offered to lend Feliks her jacket as soon as they got off the public transport: he refused. It would be a short walk, anyway.    
Gilbert’s bar was open as usual, but he was nowhere to be found. In his place, they found Sofiya cleaning up two tables that had just been freed.

Erzsébet’s eyes lit up, and before Feliks could even breathe, she was already trapped around her flustered and defenceless girlfriend. 

“Honey bee! My sweet apple pie,” she said, covering Sofiya’s blushing cheeks with kisses.

Feliks had already met Sofiya, once, and that one time they went out together the two lovebirds had not spent one second  _ not  _ touching one another. It was something that Feliks didn’t miss when Erzsébet broke up with her ex-girlfriend, because no matter how happy he was for her, it always made him feel like the third wheel. 

“It’s sickening, isn’t it?”

Feliks turned around, confused. It took him a moment to realize that the blonde young woman behind him was talking to him.    
“Hey, keep that shit to yourself.” Feliks’ anger came from the pit of his stomach, and he just couldn’t hold the words back. He might have found the two of them teeth-rotting, but he wasn’t going to let some stranger treat his best friend and her girlfriend like shit. “You know, homophobia went out of style like, twenty years ago. Fucking weirdo.”

“I’m aware of that, you coconut head, I am bi. But excuse me if I don’t want to be reminded that your friend over there is fucking my sister.” 

Ok. This girl was  _ definitely  _ a weirdo. It was already too late when Feliks’ tired brain processed what she had just said.    
“Your sis—”

“ _ Natalya _ !” Sofiya’s voice interrupted him. “For your information, me and Erzsébet have not  _ gotten physical _ yet.”

“Oh my god, TMI. I might gag.” The blonde woman rolled her eyes. 

Sofiya disentangled herself from her girlfriend’s hug, and patted her sister’s head while saying something to her in Russian. Feliks didn’t know what he had just heard, but he noticed that Sofiya’s voice sounded so different, so authoritative. It was kind of jarring.    
“Feliks, Erzsébet, this is my little sister Natalya. She might seem… ahem,  _ cold _ , but she’s actually a good girl.”

She ruffled Natalya’s hair, and Natalya didn’t seem too pleased. 

“Honey bee,” Erzsébet said, “I am so happy to see you and… uh. To meet your sister.”

Erzsébet’s hesitation was met by a cold, icy glare.    
“But the reason why we’re here tonight is to celebrate my friend Feliks, for  _ finally  _ growing a pair and asking out the guy he likes.” 

“Excuse me,” he yelled, “you don’t need to embarrass me in front of the whole fucking crowd!”

“A crowd of two people?” Erzsébet asked sarcastically. “Besides, I’m joking, dear. You already have the biggest pair I’ve ever seen.”

She blew a kiss in his direction, and he stuck his tongue out at her. 

Sofiya clapped her hands. “Congratulations, oh my! I want to know more about him!”

_ I’m dead, and hell is real _ , Feliks thought, resisting the urge to order a drink. He reminded himself that the next day it would be crucial for him to not be absolutely, completely devastated by a hangover. 

“Well,” he began, “he’s like, a guy I met at uni. It’s actually a funny story, I was going to class and there he was, having a full blown panic attack. So I took him to the cafeteria, and we talked, and now I am trapped forever in a prison of my own making. Because he’s like, so sweet, and so handsome, it’s actually ridiculous. Ugh. And if that wasn’t enough, he’s so smart, and I feel like the dumbest homosexual on earth whenever he speaks to me.” 

Natalya raised an eyebrow. 

“Is he, by any chance, a tad obsessed with vikings?”

Her question made Feliks’ jaw drop. Was this girl a witch, or something?

“How… how do you know that?”

“Because that happens to sound a lot like a story that someone I know told me. Though I wouldn’t say he’s all that handsome, and his intelligence is pretty average.” 

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” said Erzsébet. “What’s your friend’s name?”

“Tolvydas. But we all call him Tolya.”

“Tolys?” Feliks asked, confused.

Natalya nodded. “Yep, that’s the guy.”   
  


Feliks’ thoughts raced. He didn’t know how to take in the fact that this strange girl he already couldn’t stand probably had access to more knowledge about Tolys’ feelings than he could ever have hoped to find.    
Erzsébet, on the other hand, seemed elated by the news.

“Oh my god, that’s such a cool coincidence! Sofiya, do you know him too?”    
“Yeah,” Sofiya said, but her smile seemed to have taken a nervous tint. “He was— well, I don’t know him as well as Nata does, but he… he used to be our brother’s boyfriend.”

Sofiya’s words had the effect of an atomic bomb on Feliks’ thoughts, and he was now, if things couldn’t get more awkward, fully approaching a nuclear disaster. 

“Oh, but don’t worry,” she was quick to add, perhaps because she could see the explosion happening behind his eyes, “don’t worry dear, they broke up a while ago. I was sad, but you know, sometimes things just don’t work out.”

“It was Vanya who broke up with him,” Natalya said, deadpan. “I don’t know you, coconut head, but I’m going to warn you. I spend a lot of time with Tolya, and I don’t think he’s fully over it, no matter how much he says otherwise.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds that felt like eternity, when finally Erzsébet decided to change the subject.    
“Anyway, he invited him to see our play, did you tell Natalya that we’re gonna do a musical? And you’re going to be there, aren’t you, my sweet cherry tart?” 

_ Of course _ , Feliks thought, she _ has invited Sofiya to it _ . 

Erzsébet told Natalya everything she needed to know, and for good measure, anything she  _ didn’t  _ need to know too: from the name of the band that arranged the music, to the setup of the lights during her big musical number, to the fact that Feliks had ripped his tights earlier— one day before the debut. He probably should have felt embarrassed, but he just felt numb.    
  


Could it be that he had gone through the mortifying ordeal of asking Tolys out, just to find out that his gut feelings were right? Maybe the strange distance he felt between the two of them was because he had lingering feelings for Natalya and Sofiya’s brother. And, even if it wasn’t, and if Natalya was wrong: what did he think he would accomplish?    
There was no way to know the outcome of it, no matter how he looked at it. 

Feliks understood that part of the deal, when it came to love, was to be aware that no matter how, no matter when, one day your heart will be broken— even in life-long relationships, the  _ memento mori, memento mori _ was always there, a whisper at the back of someone’s head. No one was immortal, after all; no one was safe.   
But as much as he understood that, he wished his heart wouldn’t break so soon: it seemed so unfair. It absolutely sucked.    
And bottling it all up, marinating in his own hopeless yearning and self-pity would certainly not help. If he needed to be rejected, it was best to get over with it as soon as possible.   
Bang, shoot me, a bullet straight to the heart: to grieve, and eventually, hopefully, forget. 

He thought about it so much, spiraling into endless circles— like a snake, biting its own tail — that the possibility that things could possibly turn out positively seemed to him, one hundred percent,  _ positively  _ impossible.

He heard Erzsébet sweet talk to Sofiya, and he just wanted to get out of there.    
When he stood up and announced to them that he was going to go home, Natalya asked if she could have a word with him. 

She followed him outside, and the cold wind hit them both in the face. Feliks sneezed.    
“About what I said earlier,” she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to discourage you.”

Now he was pissed. “Well, thank you, but that wasn’t very helpful.”

“I know. But actually, to tell you the truth, Tolya has been talking to me about you… a lot. I meant what I said, but I do think you have a chance.”

Natalya’s blue eyes reflected the red light of a traffic light nearby. Feliks noticed that her eyeliner, sharp at the end, was smudged at the edges of her eyelids.    
“Besides, if you can manage to make him happy, then you have my blessing.”

“Thank you,” Feliks said, and this time he meant it. 

When he arrived home, his mother was sound asleep. He was greeted only by Luna, who wouldn’t let him walk past the doorway without attempting to make him trip.    
Lucy, the old queen, slept on the armchair that had always been her throne.   
He went to the kitchen to drink a glass of water, and on the table he found a piece of scrap paper, filled by the messy swirls of his mother’s handwriting. 

* * *

  
  


The memories of the morning and rehearsals were lost in a fog of anxiety and anticipation: all he could see, all that mattered was the red velvet of the curtain, the familiar sound of the voices of the people he knew, so close yet so far. The stage was a whole nother world, if only for one night, they were not in a theatre anymore: transfixed, transported into a reality that wasn’t their own.    
Such was the work of an actor, after all. And it was exactly what he loved about it.   
To not be himself, if only for one night, if only as a child’s play.   
  
The heat of the stage light seeped into the backstage: hidden behind heavy fabric, Feliks waited for his turn to enter the scene. The three ladies, servants of the Queen of the Night (Erzsébet, who was nervously chewing on her nails further back in the queue) had left the stage in a mesmerizing whirlwind of electric blue tulle.    
Felice had done an amazing job on all the costumes. That morning, right before the last rehearsal, he had surprised Feliks with a stunning addition to his own: a train of green satin, blue tulle and peacock feathers. He had held Felice and thanked him over and over. 

“Tonight, you’ll see, Papageno will steal the spotlight.”

_ Vogelfänger… Der Vogelfänger bin ich, ja, der Vogelfänger _ — his opening line played in his head, over and over again.

Feliks waited for his clue as he clutched his flute, so thankful that his stage make-up was so thick that his anxiety-induced breakout and the drops of sweat that he could feel on his forehead would be unnoticeable. When the music finally started, the rhythm of drums followed by the scratchy, stingy screams of the electric guitar, Feliks swallowed his anxiety and took a step forward. 

Then another one, and another, until the light of the stage blinded him.  
 _The stride_ , he remembered, _confident, professional._   
  


He played the few notes he’d come to memorize on the flute, and then with another step, he emerged behind the grey-foam rocks on the stage to face the crowd. His stomach twisted in indissoluble knots. 

_ The stride, confident, professional. Voice has to come from your diaphragm, not your throat. _   
He stopped for a split second: third row, seat twenty-four, seat twenty-five. 

His mother cheered for him, waving her hands in the air, mouthing words he couldn’t hear. Next to her sat Tolys, with the brightest smile he had ever seen.    
Feliks took a deep breath and smiled back, not because he had to, not because the part required it, but because for the first time in a long while his chest was filled with happiness, and light. It was show time.   
  
_ Der Vogelfänger bin ich ja, _

_ Stets lustig heissa hop-sa-sa! _   
  


* * *

The curtain fell down, tinting the entire space with its deep, wine-red folds. And yet everyone could still hear the clapping of the audience behind it, on the other side of this strange, magical passage between worlds. 

On their own side, the actors held each other’s hands, bowing down as deeply as they could manage, each passing second more eager to break the chain and hold each other, laugh, scream, celebrate.    
When Monika, his prickly Papagena, finally let go of Feliks’ hand, he immediately ran to Erzsébet and held her tight. There was no need to say anything at all, not a single word. From the backstage Felice joined them, already crying of joy. 

“You guys,” he said, breathless, “you were amazing, oh my god! I’m so proud!”

“It wouldn’t have been the same without you, Feli! And all these beautiful costumes,” Erzsébet wiped a stray tear away from the corner of her eye. “My god, it wouldn’t have been the same at all.”   
“She’s so right, Feli, you’re the unsung hero of this night!”

“Noo! I just did my job!”    
Felice protested, his face red as the curtains behind him.    
“As we all did,” said Feliks, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Great work, everyone, great work! Where should we go to celebrate?”

“I was going to suggest the usual, but I think Gil is out there, somewhere in the audience… at least he said so earlier? And so is Sofiya, so the bar should be closed.” 

“Gilbert came?” Feliks asked, puzzled. It was the first time he had accepted their invitations in many years.    
“Yes! It’s because I had a seat for Romano, and told him to bring whoever he wanted. So of course, he decided to bring his boyfriend, right?”

Felice said that as if it was the most obvious, natural thing in the world. Erzsébet and Feliks stared at him, speechless.    
“Wait, you guys didn’t know?” 

* * *

The three of them were still gossiping on the way out when they were met by a small crowd of people, at the head of which was Gilbert, holding a bottle of sparkling wine.    
As soon as they saw them, the cork of the bottle shot into the air with a bang, leaving a trail of foam coming out of the tip.

“ _ Congratulations _ !”

Gilbert and Sofiya immediately came forward to congratulate Erzsébet, and while she kissed her girlfriend, he started pouring wine into paper cups that he had brought along just for the occasion. Behind the two of them, Romano cheered for his brother in his own way: loudly, peppered with swear words and strong slaps on the back, in true italian fashion. 

And in the meanwhile, Feliks…    
  


His mother was right there, her arms stretched out for a hug. Right next to her stood Tolys, still clapping enthusiastically— almost as if he was still in the audience.    
Feliks ran to them, straight into his mother’s arms.    
“Congratulations,  _ kochanie _ !” She said, swinging him back and forth. “I’m so proud of you! You were the most beautiful bird your mom has ever seen.”

“Thanks, mama.” 

He suddenly felt silly, being held and baby talked by his mom right in front of everyone. 

“And, your…  _ friend  _ here, he is such a gentleman. He kept me good company all night.”

Tolys waved at him, visibly shaken by second-hand embarrassment. Well, at least he knew he wouldn’t be alone: his mother immediately left him to go get Erzsébet. The sneak attack made Erzsébet spill wine all over her own jacket, but she didn’t seem bothered by it at all.    
  


“Your mom is really nice,” Tolys said. “And you were wonderful on stage tonight. I didn’t know you had such a good singing voice.” 

“Are you saying you thought I couldn’t sing? Geez, that’s mean!”    
Feliks tried to pout, but he couldn’t keep up the banter for long.   
“That’s not what I meant at all! Just—”

“I know,” Feliks interrupted him with a smile. “I was just joking.”

He looked behind Tolys’ shoulders for a moment, attracted by a blurred movement in the corner of his vision: Erzsébet was waving at him, trying to catch his attention.   
She had an arm wrapped around his mom’s shoulder, and was waving her index finger at a point far away. His mom, on her own end, winked at him with a malicious smirk. 

The message was loud and clear. 

_ We are leaving you two alone _ . Point, point.  _ This is your chance. _ Wink, wink. 

Feliks took a deep breath.

“Tolys…” he said, hesitantly, and struggled to go on. Once he opened his mouth again, though, the words rolled out like an avalanche. “I’m, like, I’m glad you came. It was really sweet of you. And I’m glad you liked it. I mean, this might sound weird, but I didn’t think that this would be exactly… your thing. Because you’re into classical music and stuff, and I thought— ah, I’m sorry! I always speak too much when I’m nervous.” 

“No, it’s fine.” He seemed amused, more than anything. “I do love classical music, but I love to branch out as well. And this was a memorable experience. I should be the one… saying thank you, for inviting me.” 

Feliks clutched at the strap of his bag. Now what? 

“Tolys— actually, there is something I need to tell you.”

He looked up at Tolys’ eyes. He looked back at him, moonstruck. 

“There’s something I needed to ask you, too,” he said, bashfully, his lips trembling. “You go first, though.”   
Behind his head, hidden partially by his curly hair, the moon smiled at Feliks once again. It was like a déja-vu. 

“I… I, uh.”

Feliks could hear his own voice, as if he was listening to it on a broken record, somewhere in a faraway dream. But this was reality, and he couldn’t just wake up and start again: he couldn’t take back his words, not now.    
“Tolys, I don’t know how to say this, but ever since I met you— I don’t know if I believe in love at first sight, but like, there was something, you know? And I know it sounds cliché, but I, I can’t stop thinking about you, and how much I want to get closer to you, because… this is strange, I know, but sometimes, sometimes, I look at you and feel like I’ve known you since forever. What I’m trying to say is—” 

“I love you,” Tolys blurted out. His hands were shaking, tended forward, as if asking to be held. “That’s what I wanted to say, too.” 

Feliks stared at him, starry eyed.    
Tolys took a step forward: his hand caressed Feliks’ cheek, and a sweet shock ran through his body. Feliks felt blood rushing to his face, hot like a midsummer day.    
“Can I kiss you?”    
Tolys’ voice was a whisper. And Feliks was spellbound, unable to speak. He nodded, slowly, and it was all he needed. 

Their lips met under the night sky, purple and grey, its constellations obscured by the city lights. The moon’s soft rays, the yellow lamps of the theatre, the ever-present shine of the Fernsehturm illuminated their skin, made everything glow behind Feliks’ eyelids. 

When he opened his eyes, he forgot where he was, he forgot what time and day it was. His heart spoke in a tongue he didn’t know, the sound of crackling fireworks.    
Tolys’ eyes were so close to his own, he could see every single emotion in his irises. 

“There you are!”

Erzsébet’s voice startled Feliks. He immediately jumped back, scared of what he had just done; it took him a moment to come back to his senses. 

“Liz, what the hell!”

“Oh,” she sighed, wrapping her left arm around his neck , and patting Tolys’ head with her right hand. “My lovebirds! It was about time, you know!”    
Feliks tried to wiggle his way out of her hold. “That’s—!” 

“Sssssh, sssh. No need to protest, Fel. You two have my blessing!”

He looked at Tolys, who in turn, looked at the ground, positively mortified. 

“Tolys,” Erzsébet said, her voice suddenly serious, “you hurt this man’s feelings and you’ll have to deal with me, got it? Feliks is, for all intents and purposes, my little brother. And I have to protect him—”

“ _Excuse me_ , ma’am! I’m a grown man! I can protect myself!” 

Feliks glared at her. Tolys, however, smiled at the scene they were making.   
“I swear I’ll be good, Erzsébet,” he said, locking her hand into a handshake. “I’ll try my best.”

“Good. I like you, Tolys.”

Feliks stared, baffled, at the strange pact the two of them were making. What was next, was Erzsébet going to ask for a goat in exchange for his hand in marriage?

Tolys, however, seemed to take this seriously. 

“Well,” she said, taking her hand back, “now that this is settled, you guys better hurry up! We are celebrating at Gil’s place. It’s gonna be fun.”

She walked back to the traffic light nearby, where the rest of the group was standing, waiting for the two of them to catch up. 

“What do you think, Feliks, shall we go?” 

“Yeah,” Feliks answered, and before he had the time to say anything else he found his hand locked in the hand of the man he loved.    
The warmth of it washed over him, a feeling as sweet as honey. 

“Let’s go, then.”

They walked together, hand in hand— and the night was born anew, the line between dream and reality, so defined earlier, now seemed so blurry to Feliks. But he knew he could figure it out, eventually. One step at a time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who read until the very end: THANK YOU SO MUCH!! I hope you liked this fic, it was such a labour of love for me, and I hope someone out there enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.   
> Counting from the planning phase, this took me over one month! Whew! I'm so happy to be done and so excited to have been able to share this with y'all.   
> With this, I leave you to think, feel, breathe! Let me know your impressions - I am looking forward to see what y'all have to say! Now it's time for me to bow, and disappear against my own, virtual curtain. But before I leave: Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you! Til the next time!


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